


from the sky to the centre

by 87lester



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angels, Blood, Demisexuality, Knives, M/M, Near Death, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, ace!phil, also cute platonic PJ/Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4930069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/87lester/pseuds/87lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a Guardian angel has never been simple, and up until now Phil has handled it as well as he can. But a close call with death threatens both Phil and his human's existence, and Phil very quickly learns what sacrificing yourself for another truly entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 Phandom Big Bang. Thank you [Lucille](http://luxidy.tumblr.com) for your wonderful beta-ing and [Alex](http://vicemir.tumblr.com) for your amazing art. (found [here](http://vicemir.tumblr.com/post/130485914520/being-a-guardian-angel-has-never-been-simple-and), [here](http://vicemir.tumblr.com/post/130485921345/phil-swears-that-he-actually-hears-a-sigh-before) and [here](http://vicemir.tumblr.com/post/130485924885/the-small-circles-and-jagged-lines-feel). spoilers!) None of this was possible without your hard work and patience. (also, [my tumblr!](http://87lester.tumblr.com))
> 
> Most of all, thank you, reader! ♥
> 
> (I do not own any of the people or places mentioned in this work, nor are any of the beliefs or actions of the characters in this work representative of my own. Family members of existing characters are not intended to be representative of reality, meaning these characters are entirely made up and bear no resemblance to the actual people.)

"Fantastic news, Philip." Those are the words that live forever etched in Phil’s mind, the words that form the path of his existence and lead him to the person who makes it all worthwhile.

Angels, he will one day explain to the most important person in his life, are loosely comparable to RPG characters. Essentially, he'll say, angels all do the same thing: existing to serve and protect, to watch over the human race with the kind of ethereal love and care that mortals themselves lack. Yet more specifically, every angel has a role they must fulfil, a particular duty handed to them on the day of their creation, similar to the class given to a character by their player in a video game.

But unlike the duties of wizards, warriors and mages, the duty of angels would more commonly be described as less violent and, arguably, more challenging.

On the day of his creation, Phil discovers he's been handed the most dangerous and daunting task an angel can receive; he's going to be a Guardian. The Elders crowd around him, congratulate him on being given the most _rewarding_ job of all, as they put it: the responsibility of guarding a human, keeping them out of harm’s way for as long as they should live. A Guardian angel.

In his first few seconds of life, Phil is overrun with joy and excitement at this prospect. His euphoric beaming and jubilant laughter are met with rare joyousness from the Elders, whose vicarious delight on Phil’s behalf lightens the air and warms the atmosphere.

Then, however, Phil pauses and hesitates in his excitement. He bites his lip, shuffles on the spot and immediately asks what is regarded as the most ridiculous question the Elders have ever heard.

"When do I get to see my human?"

It doesn't work that way, they tell him. There are billions of people on Earth, they say, and trillions of angels waiting their turn; did he really think they would just _give_ him one? Embarrassingly, the answer to that question is yes, a fact that Phil keeps quietly to himself.

He's told that when the time comes, he'll know.

"How long will I have to wait?" Phil asks, disappointed.

A while, is their response.

True to their word, ' _a while_ ' passes with no news. Another while passes, and Phil remains human-less. PJ, another Guardian, is eventually told that he's ready long before Phil is, that they can see it in his eyes that he's mature enough and responsible enough to take on the role he's been blessed with. Phil is happy for PJ, because PJ has waited just like he has—but he's also frustrated, because PJ was created quite _a while_ after he was.

To pass the time, he loiters with the other angels at the edge of their world, looks over the humans on a daily basis and watches their lives disappear as quickly as they come, his mind cluttered with thoughts about what his own human will be like. His fingers curl softly over the fence separating himself from humanity, the only barrier keeping him safe from stumbling into the seemingly bottomless ravine below where the image of Earth lies free for Phil’s viewing. So many cities and towns where humans live obliviously, all there in plain sight. Their homes are not dissimilar to those of Phil’s world, an endless city bustling with not people, but angels, with its own apartments and cafés and greenery.

He finds himself drawn to specific humans, sometimes. There's a girl in Vietnam that he watches frequently between the ages of 14 and 57, diligent and ambitious and determined to boot, until one day he just loses sight of her. There's a boy in Kenya that Phil watches whenever he's bored, because the boy is creative and funny and everything Phil wishes for most in a human. There's a girl in Italy who he's drawn to because she's far more religious than Phil thinks he ever will be, and it makes him think she'd be a much better angel than he is, too.

That last girl, unfortunately, is hit by a car a short while after Phil starts watching her. He knows she's not his human, but in that moment, Phil wishes that she was. He wishes he could have saved her.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of waiting (and maybe it really has been), Phil knows that it's time. On this day, Phil's standing with PJ, just watching. More specifically, they're watching PJ's human—an English 22-year-old with dreams of being a comedic actor, cursed with a nine-to-five job that barely gets him by—when Phil gets a sudden sense of urgency he's never felt before. It's whiplash after a car accident, vertigo on the roof of a tall building. It's a need to protect, and Phil has absolutely no idea who it's for.

His throat is dry, so he swallows before he speaks. "PJ," he croaks, grasping at his friend’s shoulders in an attempt to steady himself. Lost in delirium, he misses with every attempt until PJ ends up grabbing his hand himself. "PJ, let me see my human."

Within about three seconds, PJ's face fluctuates between shock, panic, and uncontainable excitement. He raises a hand and claps it almost brutally on Phil's back before saying, "That's all on you, buddy."

And then Phil realizes that yes, it is. He tells himself to look for his human, and he does. Within no time at all, he’s brought to a hospital in the same country he had just been staring down at,  even though just moments before he’d had no idea where to look, and almost automatically he knows which room he should be looking in. Instantaneously, he feels the room materializing around him; he's not physically there but he's _there_ , standing at a woman's side as she gives the final push before her baby boy enters the world. PJ is gone and Phil doesn't give a damn.

"Fantastic news, Philip," Phil hears from behind him. He doesn't turn around. He knows that it's time.

"Daniel," the boy's mother names him. And with that, Phil learns the name of his very own universe.

* * *

Daniel—or Dan, as he prefers—turns out to be what many of Phil's peers would call _a handful_. Phil isn't sure if he can argue with that fact, because while Dan is a kind soul, he's excruciatingly difficult to keep out of trouble, through no fault of his own.

His childhood years are uneventful, unsurprisingly. Dan doesn’t fight, or cause any scenes. As a child, he makes friends with ease, enjoys school as much as any infant can, and makes it through primary education without committing any major felonies. Any worries Phil has about Dan’s developmental stages are quelled quickly, both by Dan’s unexciting behavioural patterns remaining unchanged for years at a time, and by PJ’s endless reassurances that “ _Yes, your human is a happy, healthy and completely normal boy. Stop asking_.”

These years of peace naturally come to an end when secondary school begins. Dan’s environment changes, yet his character remains the same, a social crime among teenagers that leaves him ostracised and, to Phil’s dismay, incredibly low-spirited. For Phil, Dan’s sudden shift in attitude is akin to watching an illuminous light flickering and fading away as its energy burns out. Bruised knees and bloody elbows are wounds that Phil can fix. Soothing the soul is an entirely different matter.

And now, Dan’s soft exterior and pliant personality make him a daily pit-stop for bullies, and his questionable social skills leave him very nearly friendless. His teenage hormones clash with strict parenting, resulting in Dan shutting out his family in favour of the company of his laptop. He finds solace from his troubles in loud music, social media, and an unholy amount of selfies.

By all definitions, Dan is indeed a handful. And Phil loves every inch of him.

"You don't need to protect him from _everything_ , Phil," PJ tells him one day as they observe Dan together, watching him collect his P.E kit from the rubbish bin that someone has viciously dumped it in. Dan shakes his bag vigorously, sighing as a rotten banana detaches itself from it and falls gracelessly to the floor, and Phil winces a little.

PJ frowns, adding, "Personal growth and all that nonsense."

Phil's scowl perfectly relays his inner feelings to PJ even before he opens his mouth to speak. "I think he's had more than enough ' _personal growth'_ by now, Peej," he grunts, turning away from the sight of Dan's crestfallen face to fold his arms and groan. "I have half a mind to find that boy's Guardian and give him a right—a _stern_ talking to."

PJ smirks at his slip up and slides fluidly into the space next to Phil, just before giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Try to relax a bit,” he says. “Dan's only young. You think this is bad, just wait until he's at university raising Hell at three in the morning with all the other hooligans."

Phil can't help but laugh, although gloomily. "I guess," he says. The uncertainty in his voice makes PJ offer him a sympathetic smile. “I just worry about him.”

“Well, that’s your job,” PJ replies, raising one shoulder in a half-shrug. “You can watch over him, and you can worry about him, but you can’t always help him.”

In a rare act of flippancy, Phil snorts and rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself,” he retorts. Nevertheless, the exchange cheers him up. Despite PJ being younger than Phil (and Phil is rather young already, for an angel), his advice never fails to act as a pick-me-up.

Phil exhales slowly before continuing. “I’m going to be the best damn Guardian this world has ever seen. Nobody is messing with _my_ human and getting away with it.” PJ purses his lips, withholding a jibe, and Phil elbows him playfully when he catches sight of it.

He turns back to look for Dan and finds him in the boys’ toilets, fixing his fringe and looking unmistakably morose instead of walking to the lesson he’s already five minutes late to. Dan stare wordlessly at his own reflection, mentally correcting flaws that aren’t even there, and Phil’s eyes soften as he watches. He wonders how long it will take for Dan to see himself through Phil’s affectionate gaze.

When Dan is done, Phil purses his lips in thought and spins swiftly on his heel to look back at PJ. “Is it sacrilegious of me to put bees in those boys’ bags?” he asks casually.

Next to him, PJ very nearly chokes on his own laughter. Phil smirks at the sound, prompting PJ to give him a not-so-gentle shove as he struggles to speak through his spluttering.

“ _Yes_ ,” PJ confirms. Phil fakes a disappointed pout in response. “But I guarantee you it would be hilarious. Although I’m not sure how the Elders would feel about that one, if I’m being honest.”

“I think I’d actually be crucified,” Phil sighs, wrenching his gaze away from Dan as he abandons the mirror to reluctantly approach his next lesson. “It _would_ be fun, though.”

“Maybe not bees,” PJ suggests with a sordid grin. “Maybe just a hole in their bags. Or an unfortunate incident involving seagulls and a horrific amount of bird poo on their way home.”

“You’re an evil genius.”

“I know. You didn’t hear it from me, though. I don’t fancy losing my Guardianship while my own human is still on the loose.”

After a lot of deliberating, Phil opts for a double dose of a week’s worth of detention for Dan’s tormentors, plus an unscheduled thunderstorm at the end of the day just moments after Dan makes it safely onto his bus.  Phil times it to make sure that Dan sees all the unfortunate happenings he has planned for his perpetrators: a phone falling into a deep puddle, a sudden trip face-first into a muddy patch of grass, and most impressively an _actual_ encounter with a bee sting that neither Phil nor the weather had even accommodated for in the first place. He _is_ verbally crucified for it as a result – Phil spends a decent amount of time being lectured on his ‘incredibly un-angelic and morally corrupt’ behaviour – but it’s all worth it to see the way Dan tries and fails to hide a smile behind his hand as he watches.

That same night, Phil takes an impromptu trip into Dan’s room. It’s something he’s made a monthly habit of, simply basking in Dan’s presence as he goes about his daily life, completely oblivious to Phil humming to himself beside him. He talks to Dan as if the conversation is anything but one-sided, asking about his day even though he’s seen it all and complimenting him on his hard work at school. It’s times like these, in Dan’s cripplingly small room lit only by the light of his buzzing laptop, that Phil lets himself forget. He forgets that he’s a Guardian and forgets that Dan will never know that he exists.

It’s a habit that Phil knows he should grow out of, but indulging himself for a few more years couldn’t hurt.

When Dan finally clambers into bed at a time that would make his mother weep, Phil stays until he’s assured that Dan is asleep. His deep, uninterrupted breathing acts as Phil’s personal lullaby, flooding his body with exhaustion and blurring his vision. Before he leaves, Phil’s eyes give a final sweep over Dan’s body, as if looking for some form of terrible injury he has somehow missed. When he’s finally satisfied that Dan requires no more attention from him, Phil soundlessly presses a hand to Dan’s cheek and cups it, brushing his thumb over smooth skin and too-early hints of rough stubble.

“Good night,” Phil whispers into the quiet of the room. “Tomorrow will be better, I promise. I’ll look after you.”

Phil’s made the same promise every night for years. He means it every time, but with each day it gets harder. Being a Guardian getsharder, life for Dan keeps getting harder,andit’s getting a Hell of a lot harder for Phil to keep it together without feeling like a nuisance and a failure. He’s letting Dan down in ways that Dan doesn’t realize, and never will. It’s Phil’s own personal burden to bear.

 _But tomorrow will be better_ , Phil thinks, rubbing his eyes out of sheer tiredness. Dan has faced some forks in the road, but he’s got a whole life ahead of him. With enough luck, Phil plans to be there every day until his very last.

* * *

 He hadn't reacted fast enough. He's failed his human, and he's failed himself.

Dan is sprawled out in the middle of the pavement. The man that had attacked him is long gone, so Dan is all alone with not a single soul to help him, and Phil is leaning over him, crying. Dan is unconscious, and even if he wasn't Phil has no inkling as to whether he would even be able to hear him. But he talks to Dan regardless, whispering words of encouragement to make him hold on to the slither of life he's still grasping, still fighting for. He takes Dan’s hand and strokes his hair out of his bloodied face, all while whispering the Lord's Prayer in as many tongues as he can think of. He uses Dan's weak breathing as a reminder that it's not over yet, that Dan is still alive and that miracles happen, sometimes. Yet the desperate sound also reminds him that Dan hadn't even reached his 19th birthday before Phil had completely and utterly failed him.

The rain drips mercilessly onto Dan’s frozen face, running crimson streaks down his otherwise unsullied skin. Though the rain and the cold are nothing but empty thuds on Phil’s trembling form, the flickering streetlight illuminating the bloody pool beside Dan’s body is enough to make it all feel real. It’s undeniable proof that this isn’t just a hopeless nightmare.

After what feels like an eternity, the sound of a woman screaming wrenches Phil out of his despair, piercing through both the cold air and Phil’s very soul. It's a small relief, but a relief nonetheless. She calls for an ambulance, and the waiting begins.

In the span of time between Dan being loaded into the ambulance and him arriving at the hospital he was born in only 18 years ago, Phil pleads with the Elders.

"He's not ready," he begs, hands clasped together turning his knuckles slowly white. He's still crying, so his words are jumbled and hard to understand. "It wasn't supposed to happen—I was meant to stop it, and I just—“

But if it's meant to be, then it's meant to be, are the Elders' closing words. Even Guardians cannot protect their humans from their ultimate fate.

 _No_ , Phil thinks, because he knows that this is wrong. He knows, just like he'd known 18 years ago that Dan was his human, that this is a mistake, that Dan has so much life left. He can't let Dan die because of his own failure. It's just not how it works.

So he waits, albeit impatiently. He lingers by Dan's side as the doctors operate, sees Dan's parents and brother pacing restlessly outside his room, waiting just like him. But he isn't waiting for the end of the surgery, for Dan to wake up. He's waiting for _him_. And at around 3:40 in the morning, when Dan's family are asleep and the doctors have called it a day, he comes.

Phil knows when Death arrives even without looking away from Dan's motionless form, because the room turns ice cold, as does Dan's face. He does look away, though, and they lock eyes - Phil's bright and blue, his more like empty holes – sending tremors through Phil’s entire being.

Phil takes a very, very deep breath. It's difficult, because the cold air feels like it’s freezing his insides, and briefly Phil thinks that it may have done him more harm than good. He stands up straight, making sure that his body is blocking Dan's as well as it possibly can. Then, with faux confidence and a trembling voice, he takes the plunge.

"You've made a mistake."

If Death has heard him, his face certainly doesn't show it. Rather, he pulls out his List from under his robe and scans the names written in perfect cursive; names, and next to them, their owners’ causes of death. The angel hums to himself and, momentarily, Phil thinks that they might be safe.

He's wrong. "Daniel James Howell—attempted mugging?" Death asks, as if he's just asked Phil for the weather or the time of day.

For Phil, it's like a knife straight through his heart. His legs turn to jelly, barely keeping him upright in his fear, and his hands don’t fare any better in comparison from the way they tremble and shake. Still, he raises his chin a little and fights it.

"No," he says. "No, it's not him."

Phil doesn't know if he's the first Guardian to pick a fight with one of the most prominent angels in their lore, but there's no harm in trying. It's futile, of course, because angels know everything, especially angels as old and wise as Death himself. Besides, he hasn’t asked Phil for confirmation or permission. He’s asked only out of pure formality and tradition.

Phil swears that he actually hears a sigh before Death says, "Move."

"No," Phil repeats, with more force this time. He's not sure how long he can stall for, or even if his efforts are meaningless, but as long as there's a chance that Dan can pull through, it's worth it. Even if the chance is as slim as Death’s own skeletal finger.

Phil’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a heart monitor sounding the tone of a flat heart rate. The sound smothers him, robs him of his breath and leaves him feeling disturbingly close to drowning. Phil feels as if his world is ending, until he looks over and sees Dan's own heart monitor is still showing activity. Still beating. Still fighting. The sound is coming from the room to the left.

Phil wastes no time in taking advantage of the blessing he's been given. "Well?" he bites, breaking the silence. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

He can't tell if Death is unmoved or simply dumbfounded at Phil's bravery and stupidity. Death’s face is far too expressionless for Phil to come to any sort of conclusion, so he acts as if he's already won and turns back to look at Dan. As he strokes Dan's knuckles in an attempt to soothe his nerves, he hears Death's parting words as he melts away.

"Fine. Have it your way."

Death disappears, and almost as if on cue, Dan's eyes flutter open. Phil feels his heart soar. 


	2. Chapter 2

Every day for the next two months, Phil watches Dan’s every waking moment even more intensely than he has before. Dan isn’t released from the hospital for another month—the knife had barely missed one of his vital organs, making moving around a difficult task for him—so most of Phil's time is spent on Earth, by Dan's side. Dan can't _see_ him, of course, but Phil still tries to make his presence known somehow: he lightly places his hand over Dan's injuries and strokes them in an attempt to numb the pain, and sometimes when Dan is clearly distressed, Phil runs a hand over his forehead to send him into a blissful, pain-free slumber.

Dan's release from the hospital is undoubtedly the highlight of Phil's career as a Guardian thus far. He's overcome with pride at the sight of Dan taking his first unaided steps out of the reception and into the fresh air of the car park, yet simultaneously saddened at the sight of his struggle. He walks silently next to him, placing a reassuring hand on Dan’s shoulder to lend him strength. Dan’s body heeds no response to the shaky touch, no flinching nor keening at the feeling of flesh on injured flesh, and no appreciative smile to soothe Phil’s worries, either. There’s no real reason for Phil to believe that Dan can sense him, but he allows himself to believe it for the sake of his own sanity.

"You're doing so well," Phil whispers as they walk at an agonizingly slow pace to Dan's mother's car. "I'm so proud of you."

He’s proud, and somewhat overwhelmed. The days have been long and the nights have been even longer. It’s been weeks of Phil trapped in a state of constant paranoia, flinching every time a window is opened or a door too harshly closed, the sudden breeze triggering memories of the encounter with Death. He recalls pacing through the bustling hospital halls one day and catching Dan’s name being whispered in a room nearby, dragging him like a fish caught on a hook to the source of it.

“That boy was dead,” the nurse had said, absentmindedly stirring her tea as others crowded round her to listen. Phil had peered around the corner of the door to hear more clearly, and recognized her as Dan’s own nurse. “He wasn’t _dead_ , but as good as. We couldn’t bear to tell the family.”

Another nurse to her left shook her head, baffled. “I saw his file. It was heart-breaking. So young, too.”

The first nurse nodded in agreement, pulling her teaspoon out from her drink and laying it carefully on the table. She stared down at the wooden surface, transfixed on something invisible as she spoke, never raising her head. “We couldn’t believe it when he pulled through. With injuries that bad we expected him to be out for at least a day or so, but he woke up just a few hours after surgery. I’ve never seen anything like it—it was miraculous.”

With a stern look on his face, a man in the corner of the room spoke up for the first time. “Maybe it _was_ a miracle,” he had said. The others gave each other nervous glances, exchanging quiet whispers with each other as they did so. The first nurse had shrugged, brought her tea to her lips and sipped, ending the conversation with a single thought:

“Definitely a miracle, if you ask me,” she replied, sighing matter-of-factly and seemingly waking up from her trance. “Colour me confused. Must have been angels.”

The conversation had stuck in Phil's mind for weeks, the weight of the situation smothering him with doubts and ‘ _what ifs’_ and all the things that PJ would have laughed at him for. He hadn’t seen PJ in what felt like forever. The idea of returning to his own world and leaving Dan alone for a single second had not crossed Phil’s mind once since Dan’s admittance, not even when Dan had been flooded with family and friends doting on him and making sure that he was fine in ways that Phil never could.

A small part of him never wants to return, having been spoiled in every sense of the word by being within arm’s reach of Dan for weeks at a time. It’s a luxury that he has rarely dared to indulge in for too long. To see Dan’s dimpled smile up close, to monitor his slow breathing as he sleeps and to run a gentle hand down Dan’s side just _because_ has been nothing short of a blessing.

But staying away too long is dangerous, as many Guardians before him have learnt. If it was that simple then everyone would do it, one Elder had told him when he had been scolded for following Dan a little _too_ closely years ago, abandoning his watch post to walk by Dan’s side to his bus every day during his first year of secondary school. Of course, life as a Guardian has _never_ been ‘that simple,’ but the horror stories involving angels who stayed on Earth for too long slip Phil’s mind far too easily when Dan’s life is at stake.

He’s brought back to reality the moment Dan stumbles into his mother’s car and slams the door shut.

You’ve done a wonderful job, Philip, he hears the Elders say from behind him. Phil only half acknowledges them, their voices drowned out by the sound of the engine and the fact that he’s entirely too focused on Dan in that moment to care about anything else. He doesn’t reply; his eyes are trained on Dan as he watches the car drive away, overcome with relief that Dan can finally go home and really rest.

It’s time to come back, they say, as if the silence between them isn’t deafening.

Phil shakes his head. He's exhausted in every meaning of the word. “Give me a few more days,” he whispers, still staring off into the distance where the car has disappeared from his line of sight. “He starts university in a couple of weeks. He’ll be up all night thinking about it and—and he won’t eat. He’ll be weak. I need to look after him.”

Their presence behind him envelops him, burning and intimidating, reminding him of two things: that it’s not just Dan who’ll be weak if Phil stays here any longer, and that the Elders never ask twice. In his feeble state, Phil loses all his fight in an instant. He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he moves; there’s no disputing what the Elders want, so Phil lets himself melt into nothingness the way he has done so many times before.

Travelling for angels is as easy as falling asleep, but Phil’s long term absence from his own world makes it more difficult than it would have been months before. It takes some concentration and a few dizzy spells throwing off his balance, but with his very little remaining strength it’s not long before Phil finds himself back where he came from. There’s the familiar sight of his watch post and, with it, the edge of the world from which he’s returned. As soon as Phil’s feet hit the ground, he’s only moments away from falling into PJ’s arms.

“Phil,” PJ breathes as soon as they meet, catching Phil. He squeezes him tightly and rubs soothing patterns down Phil’s back, all while Phil shakes and sobs and heaves.

“Thank God you’re okay,” PJ mumbles into his hair. “We all thought that maybe—well, we lost sight of you for a little while there.” There’s no need to explain what he means. Phil knows from his tone of voice alone that weeks away from home had put him in a significant amount of danger. _We all thought that maybe you were gone for good._

“He made it, Peej,” Phil finally manages to mutter into PJ’s chest, damp from all of his tears. “He got through it. I nearly lost him but he made it.”

PJ stares down at him and chuckles. The sound in itself is comforting, a reminder of home. “All thanks to you. We all saw what you did down there. That was brave.”

Phil shudders at the memory and shakes his head. He exhales through his mouth—his nose is completely blocked from his sudden tears—and clings tighter to PJ's towering form. “It wasn’t brave. I was honestly shitting myself. But I couldn’t lose him, Peej—”

“I know, I know,” PJ whispers like a gentle mantra. “But right now you need to rest. Don’t worry about Dan, I’ll look out for him. We don’t want you ending up like—“

“—Like Louise,” Phil says back, anguished. Their eyes meet and PJ nods, confirming their shared thoughts.

Louise. Louise had been a Guardian, just like him. Louise had gotten in over her head, too—just like him. Phil is beginning to understand why.

As they pull apart, PJ stares deeply into Phil's red, tear-stained face. "Enough of that. All that matters is you're safe. You go take a break, and I'll see to Dan if he needs anything."

Phil's too tired to even smile, let alone argue, so he nods lethargically and gives a shaky thumbs up. He's certain that he looks nothing short of ridiculous, pale and wobbly and moments away from passing out, but the promise of his bed after endless days of rigid, terribly _mortal_ hospital furniture acts like a magnet pulling him with leaden steps to his apartment and into his room.

Angels dream. It's a fact never taught in human religious studies. Phil only dreams rarely; his sleeping schedule works in time with Dan's, and Dan's sleeping pattern usually equates to "not very much." The dreams Phil _does_ have are easily forgotten, simply because there’s too much in his waking moments to keep him occupied, too much in reality to live in a daydream. As soon as his head hits the pillow after returning to his room, Phil drifts to sleep, and he dreams. It’s unforgettable.

In the dream, he’s watching Dan, which in itself is unsurprising. It’s so realistic that for a moment, he believes it to be real. All of Dan’s small, unnoticeable habits are present, like tapping on his desk to the sound of a silent beat, or curling his hair between his thumb and index finger while absentmindedly scrolling through a website. They’re the things that Phil might miss on the days he’s not figuratively hovering over Dan’s shoulder, something he’s been doing far too much of recently. But to see Dan at home is calming in its own way, and momentarily Phil is led into a false sense of security.

He’s so lost in the image in front of him that Phil almost misses the chill gliding up his spine to the base of his neck, like a skeletal hand slipping with ease around his throat. There’s nothing there but he can _feel_ it, and it freezes his head in place, forcing him to stare directly ahead. It strangles and chokes him and there’s nothing he can do to relieve himself. In front of him, Dan is oblivious to all that takes place, and what is yet to come.

It's difficult to see with his motions so tightly restricted, but out of the corner of his eye Phil catches sight of Dan's door swinging aggressively open, banging against Dan's bedroom wall and sending vibrations straight through Phil's bones. Phil doesn't even need to look to know that it's Death's unholy form that drifts in, cloaked arms outstretched in an almost zombie-like state, his infamous List clutched unyieldingly in one hand.

Phil opens his mouth. He wants to scream, yell, even make the smallest _whimper_ to get Dan's attention, but he can't make any sound. Dan remains impervious to his situation; his earphones are firmly set in his ears, blasting music on the highest volume. Phil's throat burns with the effort, but it's all in vain.

Death inches closer and closer at a torturous pace, and it's only when Phil feels a sudden drip on his lap that he realises that he's crying. His vision mists over and, without the ability to wipe the tears from his eyes, Phil loses sight of Dan entirely. It’s torture in its worst form for him, a cruel reminder of his past mistakes and failures at keeping Dan safe, his reason for _being_. His entire body aches from trying to move and, after the pain becomes unbearable, Phil does what he considers to be the worst thing he could ever do. He gives up.

With all the fight sucked out of him, Phil tries desperately to make out the image of Dan one last time. He blinks repeatedly, tears trailing from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks, staining the skin beneath them.

Phil manages to catch a glimpse of Dan unknowingly typing at his computer, Death only millimeters away from clasping his fingers around his throat, before bolting upright in his own bed, drenched in sweat.

* * *

He shouldn’t travel in his weakened state, but running isn’t fast enough.

It's made even worse by the fact that he can't travel far. Phil finds himself disappearing then reappearing only a few metres away from where he last stood, cursing to himself with every failed attempt. His legs buckle beneath him every time he lands, ankles cracking as they try and fail to support his body weight. A group of messenger angels kindly approach him to help, but Phil grits his teeth and shakes them off instead. It's not him that needs help, not even in his fragile state, overcome with waves of nausea and entire body aching with throbbing pain. Even then, his mind is trained on Dan.

Phil abandons the idea of travelling as soon as it becomes clear that it’s anything less than convenient, which is a remarkably quick revelation. As he runs, breathing heavy and sweat pouring, Phil attracts several concerned stares. But the world around him is a blur, an irrelevant distraction. He’s fairly certain that he knocks into a dozen other angels on the way, but there’s no way for Phil to confirm it when both bodies and streetlamps become indistinguishable grey blobs in his vision. Otherwise, his insides may be wrecked, but his body is numb to impact.

His heart thrums in his ears, an endless beat that dulls Phil’s senses with its intensity. It increases in speed tenfold when his destination comes into view, and with it the outline of PJ relaxing against the wall. Phil hadn’t thought it was possible to run any faster than he is, but the closer he gets the quicker he moves. PJ only manages to catch a glimpse of Phil’s sprinting form coming towards him before he’s nearly knocked over with the force of Phil’s body colliding into his own.

“Christ, Phil, what’s wrong?” PJ yelps, stumbling to the side and barely maintaining his balance. Phil catches sight of him pressing a hand to his temple where Phil’s elbow has made contact, checking it for blood or bruising. When he’s satisfied that there’s no injury, PJ straightens his back and reaches for Phil, who is bent over and heaving. PJ tries to keep him still.

“Come on, buddy, just breathe,” PJ soothes. He readjusts Phil’s position by pulling him by the shoulders to face him, balancing on his own heels so their faces are level. He waits for a moment as Phil catches his breath, and hushes him with every attempt to speak.

“Let’s go inside, Phil. You look like you need to sit down.”

Any effort to make a sound is like a knife in Phil’s throat, closed up and dried out, so he shakes his head erratically to convey his response to PJ. His hands, previously clasped tightly around his knees as he hunched over, wave in front of him as a way of silently rejecting the invitation. Phil forces himself into a standing position and PJ follows his movements, pushing himself back up to mirror him.

“PJ,” Phil chokes out, still with ragged breath but just calm enough to speak. “PJ, is Dan—is Dan okay?”

“What?” PJ asks, confusion seeping across his face. His brow twitches as he comprehends the question, and shoots upwards the moment he understands. “Yeah, he’s—I just checked on him, actually. He’s asleep. He has been since he got home.”

The words are a verbal relaxant, making Phil’s own face crumple with relief. He goes over to the edge to confirm it, searches for Dan and finds him sleeping peacefully in his bed, entirely unharmed. The sight makes Phil’s whole body relax like hot, melting liquid. He rests his elbows on the wall in front of him and drops his face into his hands, releasing a long, reassured sigh. Behind him, PJ approaches him slowly and pats his back.

“Thank God,” Phil mumbles into his hands. PJ snorts quietly in response.

“He just went straight to sleep. No surprise there, I suppose. He must be exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Phil croaks with a weak laugh. There had been no reason to worry after all. The evidence is in front of him: Dan curled up in his duvet, lightly snoring, as if he’d never been away from home at all. Phil’s heartbeat starts to settle into a steady rhythm in his chest, and suddenly he’s hit with a wave of fatigue.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?” PJ says when Phil wobbles a little, breaking the silence between them. “It’s not too far to mine from here. Stay, if you’d like.”

Phil debates in his head what course of action to take – it’s no good waiting here for Dan to wake up, and going back to his own place after his nightmare is entirely unappealing – before nodding slowly. PJ smiles and flicks his head to the side as a way of asking Phil to follow, which he does, with some effort. As they walk, Phil is somewhat distracted by the endless trembling of his legs.

Mostly they walk in silence, but occasionally PJ makes small, aimless comments about their surroundings. With the ability to travel, moving around on foot is a rare occurrence. After becoming a Guardian, it has rarely crossed Phil’s mind to go anywhere by walking—his existence often feels like a constant rush, a full time job with no breaks—and, despite spending centuries previous wandering their world with little to do, it surprises Phil how quickly he has forgotten what the world looks like beyond his watch post. The ethereal world is painted with skylines, blocks and blocks of apartment buildings where angels of every sort reside stretching over violet skies. It had slipped Phil’s mind entirely that between those buildings are gardens, parks, and greenery.

When they finally reach PJ’s door, Phil purposely lags behind just a few seconds to allow PJ to move ahead. As soon as there’s an acceptable distance between them and PJ is busy fumbling with his keys, Phil struggles to swallow, and speaks up.

“How do you do it, Peej?” he queries. PJ's hand freezes in place, just as he grasps his apartment’s doorknob.

“Do what?” PJ replies, letting go of the handle and looking back over his shoulder to face Phil. Phil sighs and rubs at his eyes, both from tiredness and stress.

“Just—the whole Guardian thing. I never see you watching your human, and you don’t worry about him either. It’s like you don’t even have one most of the time.”

The words sound harsh, but they’re not meant to be. PJ’s lips purse at the comment, and his gaze is fixed on the floor rather than Phil’s face. From the way PJ’s eyes move subtly from side to side, he seems to be searching for the right words.

Rather than answering, PJ clicks his tongue and turns back to face the door. “Follow me,” he says quietly. Phil obeys, though it suddenly crosses his mind that PJ might have misunderstood his intentions. Before he can correct himself, however, PJ is talking again.

“Want to know how I do it?” PJ reiterates, shrugging off his coat and draping it over the back of his kitchen chair. He encourages Phil to do the same, motioning towards the seat across from him as he does so, and sits down. PJ folds his arms on the table and remains motionless until Phil is settled.

Shuffling in his chair, Phil nods. He doesn’t offer a verbal response out of fear of interrupting PJ’s train of thought.

When he’s satisfied that Phil is comfortable, PJ’s face breaks into a smile that feels unfitting for their conversation. “Listen, Phil,” he starts, green eyes focused directly on Phil’s face. It’s somewhat unnerving, and feels vaguely like a twisted interrogation. “The problem with you is that you worry too much. You can’t hover over Dan all the time like he’s a baby.”

Though Phil tries to interject, PJ cuts him off. “I _know_ he’s young. I’m not uninterested in my human, Phil. He’s an adult now. It might have been right for me to watch him endlessly when he was a kid, but how am I going to help him now?”

“I’m not saying you’re a bad Guardian, Peej,” Phil stammers at the first available opening. He’d had no intention of offending his friend, but the hole he’s dug for himself is getting deeper by the minute. “That’s really not what I meant. I just meant that—you’re never stressed out, or concerned, and I wish I could be that way but I just can’t. It’s overwhelming.”

Either PJ doesn’t hear Phil through his meek stuttering, or simply ignores him entirely. Instead, he reaches over the table and gives Phil’s arm a reassuring squeeze, which Phil acknowledges with a weak smile. “Let me finish. I’m not saying you’re a bad one either. You just care, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re supposed to care.”

Phil bites his lip, and PJ continues once more when it’s clear that Phil is listening. “I know you’re on edge about what happened with Dan. Anyone would be. But it was a freak accident, Phil. He’s home, he’s safe now. Let him live his life.”

The sentiment is there, but Phil’s brow still furrows with subdued frustration. “I appreciate it, Peej, but what if it happens again?” Phil asks, folding his arms as he vents. “What if I’m not watching, and something awful happens? Don’t you ever worry about that?”

Something in PJ’s eyes changes; they shift, easing into gentleness that Phil has never witnessed from him before. It very suddenly feels as though Phil has crossed some unspoken line, entered emotional territory that PJ has kept purposely guarded. The apology that Phil prepares to deliver remains stuck in his throat as he finds himself entranced by the rare sight of PJ’s vulnerability.

“I worry about it every day,” PJ eventually affirms, his voice softer, and somewhat sadder. “Losing him would kill me. But I can’t protect him forever—and neither can you. That’s just a fact. It wasn’t that long ago that Dan was being bullied. Could you do anything about it?”

The guilt that passes through Phil is crushing, but he understands what PJ is getting at. It doesn’t stop him from swallowing thickly and wringing his hands together with self-reproach. “No.”

“Exactly,” PJ sighs. He pulls his arms off the table and stretches, eyes scrunched together and groaning with satisfaction as he does so. When PJ is done, he leans back in his chair and continues as normal. “You wanted to help him but you couldn’t. We only have so much power, Phil. The rest is up to them.”

The best thing about PJ, among his many good qualities, is that he always knows what to say. Evidently, it has taken thousands of years for Phil to realise this about him. It is only as they sit together in PJ’s sloppy apartment, staring eye to eye, that Phil is truly appreciating this blessed feature.

“You’re right,” Phil says after a moment. He drops his forehead onto PJ’s table and groans, loudly. “Fuck, you’re _so_ right. Why are you always right?”

He can’t see him, but he hears PJ’s laughter ring out throughout the room, bouncing off the floor and the ceiling. Phil copies him, laughing just as hard, his tiredness seeping away. He lifts his head to meet PJ’s cogent gaze, and offers him a grateful smile in silent thanks. After months of constant anxiety, it feels good to finally relax.

“I just am,” PJ states confidently, straightening his back and shrugging only one shoulder. He softly kicks Phil’s shin under the table in an obscure gesture of affection. “Can you promise me something?”

Phil is taken off guard by PJ’s sudden sincerity. The corners of his mouth twitch down slightly, but he attempts to maintain a casual expression regardless. “What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll hold out a bit longer.”

It’s more than a little vague. PJ is outstanding in that respect. “I don’t get what you mean.”

“What I mean,” PJ begins, his own expression beginning to shift into a more earnest one, “is promise me you’ll hold off a bit before you go down there again. You don’t _need_ to. Let Dan be his own person without coddling him.”

Although he wants to feel offended, Phil understands the sentiment. He nods in agreement, saying, “Okay. No more visits, I promise.”

PJ grins, flashing brilliant teeth. “I don’t mean ever again, just leave him be until you’re healthy. He’s had time to recover. It’s your turn now.”

Phil mirrors his expression, somewhat forcibly. Leaving Dan alone to grow by himself had sounded right when PJ was explaining it, but putting it into practice would be difficult for him.  It isn’t that Phil doesn’t recognise Dan as an individual, but his natural instinct to protect him throws that knowledge out of the metaphorical window. He simultaneously admires and feels slightly baffled by PJ’s ability to go hours without checking on his human, a state that Phil would evidently need time to work towards.

He decides not to voice his concerns. “I promise, Peej,” Phil replies reluctantly.

“Good,” PJ says before yawning and stretching once again, this time standing up to allow himself more room. While Phil had slept, albeit restlessly, this act suddenly makes him aware that PJ has had no opportunity to recharge since Phil’s return. It wouldn’t surprise him if PJ had spent the time before his return watching over Phil and ensuring his safety. A pang of guilt hits him deep in the stomach. The feeling is starting to become worryingly familiar.

PJ’s sudden interruption makes it clear that they share the same line of thought. “Well, not to be rude, but I’m off to bed. Are you going home? The sofa’s available for rent if you’d rather not walk.”

Phil laughs at the bluntness of it. He glances quickly around PJ’s apartment, lonely and spacious, and makes an unlikely choice. “I’ll stay, I guess. I’d honestly rather be around someone level-headed right now than on my own.”

“You’re always welcome, friend.”

As PJ turns towards his bedroom and heads inside, Phil slowly gets to his feet. He cracks his neck – his body is still paying for everything Phil has put it through – and moves to perch aimlessly on the end of PJ’s sofa. Embarrassingly, it has been hundreds of years since Phil had last stepped into his friend’s apartment. It isn’t entirely dissimilar to Phil’s own in structure; for angels, there is no need for lavish amenities when the home is purely a place for rest. It’s one of the few aspects of human life that Phil truly envies—the personalization of one’s own space. There is no individuality for an angel. PJ very happily challenges this norm with a kitchen plastered with makeshift decorations, however; paper cup statues are stacked high above each other on the windowsill, and from the ceiling dangles an unused loofah sprinkled entirely with glitter. “ _Like a discoball_ ,” PJ had said, mesmerized by the lights reflecting wondrously off his self-painted walls.

When the sounds coming from PJ’s room come to a halt and Phil is satisfied that PJ is asleep, he lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling, arms locked behind his head. He lets his mind process the entire day’s events, both in his own world and back on Earth, and lets go of a long, suppressed sigh.

All in all, Dan is safe. The tallest hurdle has been overcome, admittedly with some struggle. It’s up to Phil now to show some self-restraint, to let Dan’s mind and body heal without his constant surveillance. PJ had been right; while in the hospital, Dan’s 19th birthday had come and gone. Legally, Dan is an adult. Maybe it’s time to let him be one.

* * *

When Phil had promised to stay out of Dan’s way, he’d intended to keep that promise. At the time.

The reality of the situation is that Phil isn’t used to being starved of daily Dan updates. It makes him restless. It makes him anxious. It makes him fidget in his seat, grit his teeth and complain out loud at random intervals. To put it simply, being away from Dan is boring. Being an angel is boring. Since when has his home world been so dull?

Phil had tried and failed countless times to sleep after PJ had done so, but in the end he’s left only feeling irritated. He had napped hours before, and despite being interrupted by a less than pleasant nightmare, his body isn’t ready to submit to exhaustion again in such a small space of time. He fights his agitation by quietly sneaking out of PJ’s apartment to avoid waking him, tiptoeing carefully to the door, and setting out to wander the streets.

Similarly to Phil, most angels sleep when their humans do. Human time zones, however, mean that there is never a moment when angels aren’t littering the streets of their world. There isn’t a single place that Phil could go where he can be alone, save for his own apartment. The idea of going back there is still unsettling to Phil, a gruesome reminder of a bad experience, so he goes to the only other place where he’s known for spending his time.

His fingers curl gently over the fence of his watch post, and Phil leans uneasily over the edge of it, as if any sudden movement could wake Dan up without warning. An irrational fear, but one that Phil experiences on the regular. It’s not shocking to see that Dan is just as he’d left him, sleeping undisturbed with deep, controlled breaths, but this time in the comfort of his own home rather than in an unforgiving hospital bed.

Outside of Dan’s room, the sun creeps into view, indicating the beginning of a new day. Dan would have to wake up soon. Phil tries to ignore a thought that flits around in his brain, and fails miserably.

 _You should go_ , Phil thinks to himself. He’s unsure as to whether he means to go to Dan, or to go home.

Phil looks down at his hands. They’re still shaking slightly, but not as much as they had been before. He speedily surveys his condition; his breathing is normal, he doesn’t feel dizzy, and while his body is still jittering a little, it’s entirely possible that it’s from the adrenaline in his blood rather than from poor health. If he tries, he could probably travel to his apartment and back without strain. If he isn’t capable of reaching Earth, then it simply wouldn’t happen. There’s no harm in at least _trying_ , besides maybe pulling a muscle and a pounding headache.

“Sorry, Peej,” Phil whispers out loud as he makes a decision. He squeezes his eyes shut and sets course for Dan’s room, envisioning clearly in his mind every detail of the place. His mind paints an intricate picture of the room: the old, yellowing walls are adorned with posters torn from old magazines of bands that Phil has vicariously learned to love over the years, and Dan’s laptop lies unopened with a thick layer of dust from months of non-use. The window is open a sliver, cooling air which is stuffy from both the tightness of space and the lack of alternative ventilation. Every detail floods customary warmth throughout Phil’s entire being.

There’s a moment of darkness, a feeling of sudden, increased pressure, and a brief sensation of flying before Phil is opening his eyes and finding himself in the familiar setting that he knows too well.

What he expects when he arrives is the same thing that Phil has experienced every time he found himself in Dan's room: mountains of dirty, disorganised laundry strewn all over the floor, several piles of paper covered with various, quickly-scribbled doodles, and empty cartons and packets that Dan had failed shamefully to throw into his waste bin from the comfort of his bed.  As Phil steadies himself upon materialising in the room, straightening his own clothes and fixing his hair, he's not surprised at all to find that everything is just as it has always been.

What Phil doesn't expect, however, is for Dan to sit upright in his bed and freeze very suddenly in place. He most definitely doesn't expect Dan's wide eyes to stare undisputedly right into his own. He certainly could never have prepared himself for Dan to gasp, swallow, and ask with a trembling voice, "Who are you?"


	3. Chapter 3

As Phil looks straight ahead, deep into the eyes of the boy who he’d been watching over since the day of his birth, the realisation dawns upon him that Dan is for the very first time staring right back. With this knowledge in mind, Phil analyses the situation and comes to two logical solutions.

The first of these solutions is as such: it is entirely possible that just explaining the situation to Dan would be the easiest course of action to take. Dan is, after all, a smart and reasonable individual; Phil’s certain that with enough convincing, Dan would understand the almost comical situation the two have found themselves in. Dan would easily believe that Phil isn’t an actual intruder. Even if Phil very clearly looks like he’s been caught red-handed, like a deer in headlights, with no feasible explanation for why he’s snooping around a stranger’s bedroom other than just _because_.

Phil physically winces at his attempts to rationalise the situation. Regardless, Dan’s still stares straight at him, his eyes wide, afraid and unmoving, so Phil mentally stops himself from repeatedly slapping his own face as punishment. If the situation feels impossible to Phil, then explaining it to Dan is beyond the bounds of possibility.

Internally, Phil makes a weak attempt at imagining how he could even begin to vindicate himself coherently without prompting Dan to call the police. _No, I promise I’m not a burglar, I’m just your lifelong Guardian angel._ He replays this scenario in his head at least three times before concluding that being honest with Dan is by far the worst action he could take. Instead, he opts for logical solution number two: Phil walks calmly over to Dan, who's just paralysed enough with alarm to keep him from moving, then he waves a hand over Dan’s confused and sleepy eyes, knocking him right out.

Dan’s head hits the pillow silently. Phil releases a breath he’d had no idea he was holding.

“Logical solution number two,” Phil says into the silence of Dan’s room, his voice shaking. “Buy more time.” His legs fail him, and Phil finds himself teetering on the balls of his feet before crouching on the ground, his head trembling in his hands.

It is amazing to Phil that in his thousands of years of life, not once has he thought to prepare himself for the possibility of coming into verbal contact with his human. Years of dreaming and wishing for his reason for being to come along have stopped just short of imagining making eye contact with Dan, or God forbid, actually conversing with him. A rush of anxiety and excitement fires through him from the tips of his fingers to the depths of his chest, choking him slightly and quickening his breath. Phil daren’t raise his head to look at Dan again out of fear of Dan looking back at him.

The main issue, Phil muses, is less that the situation is impossible and more so that Phil has no idea how to act in front of the person he cares for most. The concept of frightening Dan with his sudden appearance is mortifying, true, but Phil’s own fear of embarrassing himself in the presence of his human outweighs any other concerns he may have. Phil is clueless as to how to present himself in a way that is both non-threatening and, pitifully, sophisticated.

“Of _course_ ,” Phil whispers to himself, just in case the other inhabitants of Dan’s house could actually hear him, “Of course the first thing I think about is how to impress him. How much more pathetic can I get?”

Thinking out loud seems to help him relax a little, as Phil had hoped it would. The momentary clarity gives him the confidence to lift his head and ensure that Dan is still in his Phil-induced slumber; he’s seen Dan sleeping what feels like a million times now, but this time the threat of actually waking Dan makes Phil keep his distance. Every small movement Phil makes earns a creak from Dan’s floorboards and paralyzes him with worry.

“Okay,” Phil says rather than thinks. “Okay, Phil, don’t panic.”

The words don’t still his thrumming heart or cool his burning blood, but the quiet which follows them allows Phil to gather some of his thoughts.

Perhaps coming into contact with Dan would not be so bad. It is common knowledge among Guardians that humans, on some level, understand the concept of a Guardian angel; to many it is a romantic concept, and to others, a calming one. Years of religious studies in school have taught Dan the bare minimum of what he should know about Phil, in the odd times when Dan has actually paid attention.

Phil inhales a deep breath and holds it. When enough time passes by, he exhales, and with each passing second he reminds himself of what a horrible, dangerous idea this is.

His heart, body, and soul know that he should leave. His mind _screams_ at him, begs him internally to turn around and go, to let Dan believe that those few seconds of acknowledgement have all been a dream. His curiosity is ultimately stronger than the rest of him, though, and Phil crumbles, standing up straight and approaching the bed as timidly as he would a sleeping lion.

“Dan?” Phil says hesitantly, placing a hand on Dan’s shoulder to shake him gently awake. He watches as Dan’s eyes slowly flutter open, dazed, then flit around as if he’s trying to remember why he had fallen asleep in the first place. His eyes focus on Phil’s face, then his eyelids shoot completely open.

Phil’s breath hitches in his throat, mouth dropping open with every intention to speak. Instead, Dan robs him of his chance; he bolts upright in his bed, hands shooting out in front of him to push against Phil’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. Phil stumbles backwards, avoiding tripping over the various clothes and wires littered across Dan’s bedroom floor. His back hits the windowsill with a sickening _thud_ , hard enough to bruise. Phil bites his knuckle to muffle a yelp, far too aware of Dan’s family sleeping in the rooms next to them.

Dan throws the covers off himself and stands, his arms locked in what could almost pass for a fighting stance. It’s not, though, instead much more akin to Dan resting his elbows on the arms of an invisible chair. For Phil, the action is an unfortunate mixture of amusing and worrying, and only makes him concerned for Dan’s lack of defensive ability.

There’s no time for Phil reprimand him before Dan springs into action once more, his movements lightning fast. Dan snatches his phone from the bedside table and raises it in front of his face. Phil’s entirely aware that it’s just a _phone_ , but a rush of fear still arises within him, jolting him out of his trance and forcing him to raise his arms up in surrender as if Dan were actually holding a gun. Dan swallows as the flash of his phone goes off, and the brilliant light makes Phil wince and cover his eyes with his forearm, shielding himself.

“Get out,” Dan whispers shakily as Phil lowers his arms. He’s the picture of both fear and bravery; Dan’s trembling hands and quickened breath are close to unnoticable when paired with his fiery gaze, burning straight through to Phil’s core. “Get out, or I’m taking this photo to the police.”

Even though he should feel threatened, Phil can’t help but feel a slight surge of pride over Dan’s quick wit. He simultaneously feels his stomach flip with the realisation that despite how hostile he’s being, Dan is actually talking to _him_. He blinks rapidly to recover from the flash before meeting Dan’s determined gaze once again.

“That was smart,” Phil says out loud, almost accidentally. The look of confusion that passes over Dan’s features would be humorous if not for the circumstances.

“Yeah, it was,” Dan replies after a moment, raising his chin with newfound confidence. A small part of Phil feels genuinely intimidated, even though rationally he has nothing to fear. Phil is, after all, the one with the omnipotence. “And if you’re smart you’ll leave. I’ve got a kitchen knife under my bed.”

“No you don’t,” Phil says instinctively, and has to physically restrain himself from clasping his hands over his mouth as if he’s just revealed a terrible secret. Dan’s stern expression falters for barely a microsecond before he pushes his shoulders back in an attempt to disguise his momentary weakness.

“Well, you don’t want to stick around and find out,” Dan replies, firmer this time. His voice is beginning to rise in volume, and once again Phil is reminded that both Dan’s parents and brother are home, still sleeping soundly. Dan may not be able to hurt him physically, but the fear of discovery poses as a legitimate threat. It is entirely possible that, no matter how incidental, Phil’s unexplainable visibility to Dan is an offence in the eyes of the Elders. Visibility to one person is a reparable error; visibility to four would indisputably be trouble.

“Listen,” Phil tries in a feeble attempt at mediating the crisis. Dan’s entire being is ready to pounce, even without a weapon stored safely beneath his bed, his whole body trembling. Phil wets his lips and lowers his arms carefully in front of himself, palms open and unthreatening, and takes a tentative step forward. “Dan, if you would just—“

“I’m warning you,” Dan yelps as soon as Phil moves. “Don’t come near me. I’ll—I’ll scream.”

With the way that Dan’s eyes dart from side to side, it becomes clear to Phil quite quickly that Dan’s bravery had been a well-practiced act. He supposes that while years of bullying may not have thickened Dan’s skin, they have allowed him to at least pretend that he didn’t care in times of distress. Perhaps PJ had been right about ‘personal growth.’

Phil takes another mindful step forward. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not a threat.”

Unexpectedly, Dan laughs, which is as surprising to Phil as it is horrifying. He makes a mental note to explain to Dan that laughing in the face of your supposed attacker is neither smart nor brave, as soon as he’s calm enough to hold a real conversation. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

The answer to Dan’s query is unquestionably ‘yes,’ but the whole situation has left Phil nothing short of speechless. Rather than speaking, he moves forward once again, taking a much larger step than before. This time, Dan doesn’t hold back; he lurches towards Phil and, for a split second, Phil’s convinced that Dan is really going to hit him. Phil winces in advance, shielding his face with his arms and squeezing his eyes shut, inwardly preparing himself for impact.

It takes ten whole seconds of dead silence for Phil to realise that the blow he’s expecting hasn’t come. His confusion doesn’t outweigh his apprehension, though, so Phil peers over his arms to assess the situation before even daring to let his guard down.

Despite months of constant surveillance on his human, it appears that Phil had forgotten one major detail about him: Dan has just returned home from a rather lengthy stay at the hospital for a rather gruesome injury. Phil’s heart drops to the bottom of his chest when he spies Dan hunched over, moaning in pain and grasping loosely at his side where his wound is, still not entirely healed. The stress of his sudden activity had reopened the stitching beneath the bandages.

“Fuck,” Dan breathes shakily, wobbling from side to side. Tears begin to prick at his eyes, threatening to spill over. His previous courage is long abandoned, replaced with a certain kind of helplessness that shines through with every single gasp and vocal tremor. Dan bites his lip until it turns red from the pressure, withholding either a sob or a scream. The sight is a forceful punch to Phil’s gut, even more so with the knowledge that it’s Phil who’s caused the agony. Fleetingly, he wishes that Dan really _had_ hit him.

“Oh, Dan,” Phil whispers, rushing over to him to rest a careful hand on Dan’s back in support. Dan tries and fails to wince away from him, too frail to push him or protest. Phil pulls back at the first hint of rejection, terrified of giving Dan a reason to fear him. Barely a moment later Dan is groaning again, and against all odds allows Phil to hesitantly lift up his pyjama shirt to take a closer look.

Phil’s fingers grip the hem of Dan’s top even tighter at the sight before him. His other hand hovers cautiously over the soaked, bloody gauze, as if touching Dan would spark another violent reaction. Phil inhales slowly through his nose and resists the urge to cry. Though the wound can be fixed, the injury alone is enough to make Phil’s stomach turn.

“Get off,” Dan slurs, oblivious to Phil’s concerns, still swaying and looking woozy. “Get off me—I’ll scream. I’m gonna scream.”

Dan’s jumbled words are almost incomprehensible, mostly because Phil tunes them out, too transfixed on Dan’s injury. His free hand inches bit by bit toward the dressings, intent on putting at least some of his divine abilities to use for once.

Instead, Dan sluggishly bats Phil’s arm away and reaches for the dressings himself. His fingers scramble at the edges, his blunt nails briefly catching the corners which only slip away. His failed attempts leave him accidentally scratching across the injury, worsening the pain and causing a sharp cry to fall from his lips. Phil’s brow knits at both the sight and sound.

“Stop,” Phil says gently. He clears his throat quietly and struggles to hold back his emotions. “No, let me.”

Phil’s plea appears to get through to Dan somehow; he lets his arm drop lifelessly to his side, albeit reluctantly, and he chooses to glare intensely out of the corner of his eye at Phil rather than vent his frustrations out loud. Phil raises his hand once more to Dan’s wound and presses his palm lightly over it, his whole hand covering the slash and making it seem as if it isn’t there. Instead of removing the dressing like Dan had intended, Phil slides his hand gradually across Dan’s side as a way of soothing the pain, like he had done nearly every day of his hospital admittance.

When Phil glances back up from his crouched position he finds himself almost eye to eye with Dan, who’s still stooping over but now looking far more confused than uncomfortable. When Phil removes his hand, satisfied that Dan is no longer in pain, Dan places his own palm against the wound and strokes his fingers curiously across it.

“Better?” Phil asks. He doesn’t allow himself to stand up again until Dan offers him a hesitant nod.

Bewildered, Dan stumbles over to his bed and gently perches on the end of it. He sits in silence for what feels like forever, although the reality is anything between thirty seconds and a whole minute, his hand never leaving his side. Phil waits patiently for Dan to speak first, terrified of breaking the calm trance he seems to have unintentionally placed him in. A quiet Dan is far better than an anxious one.

“Who _are_ you?” Dan inquiries  for a second time, his voice much softer than it had been moments ago. Phil’s head whips up from staring at his own feet to meet Dan’s wary gaze, his eyes wide and questioning, and Phil feels his heart flip lovingly at the sight. It’s nice to make eye contact with Dan when Dan’s vision isn’t graced with venom.

In his mind, Phil lets the question replay over and over again. There’s no time to deliberate over solutions at this point; Dan is getting an explanation, and he’s getting one now. Phil takes a deep breath and wrings his hands together, nervous, and readies himself for complete rejection.

“That’s a good question, actually,” Phil stutters. “This is going to sound crazy, but there’s not really any way around it.” Phil straightens his shoulders and sighs, letting the nervous energy flow out of him. He doesn’t miss the way Dan raises a confused, almost unimpressed eyebrow at his behaviour.

The act is unsettling enough to kick Phil into gear. “I’m Phil,” he says, feeling energy spark within him.  “I’m your Guardian angel.”

One thing Phil has learned from copious years of watching Dan is that Dan very often resorts to a neutral expression when in a state of shock or denial. When his great grandmother had died when Dan was only twelve, his parents had questioned his emotional stability when Dan had remained seemingly unfazed at the revelation. Others around him had sobbed hysterically into their hands, or at least offered comforting shoulders to those who needed one. It was only later that night in the quiet of his room that Dan had broken his composure and cried, hour after hour, his small hands clasped firmly over his mouth in order to muffle the sound and avoid discovery.

Phil’s a master of the art of knowing when Dan is shocked or upset, purely from the look on his face. It seems, however, that he has never been witness to Dan’s physical response to hearing something utterly and entirely unbelievable to him.

Dan’s face displays a dramatic combination of both astonishment and what Phil can only assume to be complete horror. He shakes his head from side to side slowly, confirming Phil’s pessimistic predictions of total rejection; Dan’s fingers clutch his knees tightly as his whole body tenses, and Phil regrets telling the truth in an instant. For a moment, it had appeared that Dan had been willing to listen. Now it seems as though Dan considers him to be nothing short of unstable.

Phil is right to think so. “You’re insane,” are Dan’s next words to him, and all of a sudden Phil feels nauseous. Dan stands up slowly and backs toward his bedroom door like a cornered animal. “Thank you for helping me, but I think you should go now.”

Panic rises within Phil with every centimetre of distance Dan puts between them, the words _No, no, we were so so close_ smothering his senses with every passing moment.Phil makes a last minute attempt to rectify Dan’s first impression of him, grasping at the sudden thoughts flitting around in his mind for a way to fix everything. It’s essential for him to save face in the event that Dan would never see him again; his human feeling nothing but contempt towards him would certainly put a damper on both Phil’s Guardianship and his emotional well-being.

“Let me prove it to you,” Phil begs, his voice frantic and small. Dan picks up on his unforeseen desperation with a slow blink, appearing more curious than troubled. Phil stutters, filling the silence with meaningless sounds in an almost pitiful hurry to keep hold of Dan’s attention. Each second, as Dan’s hand inches nerve-rackingly toward the handle of his bedroom door, is crucial.  

A rush of inspiration hits Phil all at once as soon as he catches sight of Dan’s phone, still clutched like a lifeline in his other hand. It’s such a brilliant idea that he can’t keep himself from smiling, a grin breaking like a tidal wave across his face. Dan’s hand momentarily pauses on his door handle when he notices, and Phil runs a hurried hand through his hair before speaking up.

“You still don’t believe me?” Phil asks, breathless. Dan’s expression makes it clear that his assumptions are correct, confirmed for definite when Dan shakes his head and mutters, “How can I?”

Phil bites his lip. It’s his one chance to make things right. “Check your phone.”

Dan’s brow knits together, but he raises his phone in front of his face regardless to investigate. There are a few moments of thick silence as Dan’s thumb moves rapidly over the screen, unlocking the phone and scrolling from side to side to comprehend what Phil could possibly have meant for him to see.

Finally, Dan shakes his head for a second time and lowers his phone. “What am I supposed to be—“

“The photo you took,” Phil blurts; the suspense is too much for him to wait any longer, and years of observing Dan have taught him that Dan’s patience is just as short as his own. “I deleted it.”

Briefly, Dan’s face twists into a look of incredulity.  His gaze flickers back to his phone, glancing through his photos in an attempt to find the incriminating evidence he had secured for himself. With every twitch of his thumb, Dan’s amazement becomes increasingly apparent as realisation dawns upon him, his mouth slowly falling open and his movements becoming more hectic. Phil feels his lip curl with an assured feeling of smugness that he would never dare to admit to out loud.

“How on earth did you—?” Dan stutters after a lengthy pause, hands shaking. Phil’s eyes linger on them as they jitter, mostly out of concern for Dan’s phone falling out of his hands and shattering on the floor. Phil’s worries go unnoticed as Dan continues jabbering, still frantically searching for the photo he had undoubtedly taken. “This has to be, like—I mean, there’s no way you just—“

Phil takes a few steps toward Dan, although he moves with caution in preparation for another violent outburst. It never comes, though; Dan is too shocked to move or speak coherently, allowing Phil to place a hand on his arm and guide him gently into sitting on the bed.

“You never moved,” Dan prattles with disbelief. Phil nods in understanding. “The entire time, you were just--you couldn’t have done anything even if you tried.”

Phil’s grin feels unfitting for the situation, but he guesses that Dan will respond better to a friendly face. “I didn’t need to,” he confesses with a half shrug. “I told you, I’m an angel. I’m your Guardian.”

“But that’s not _possible_ because—“

“It _is_ ,” Phil cuts him off, almost improperly amused. He’s been so preoccupied with watching Dan’s every tiny movement that he hadn’t noticed his hand is still gripping Dan’s forearm tightly. Awkwardly, he settles it back into his lap. “I know it’s a bit surprising, but it’s not a bad thing, I promise.”

Dan blinks rapidly, evidently speechless, and Phil takes the silence as an opportunity to explain himself while he’s got the chance, clearing his throat.

It feels too formal, but trying to be casual in this situation is laughable. “Like I said, I’m Phil, and I’ve been looking after you since you were born. I mean, the clue is in the name, really – ‘Guardian,’ that is – and everyone has one. And, um, that’s all there is to say, I guess.”

Years of dreaming, and Dan’s response leaves little to be desired. “This is ridiculous,” Dan replies with what sounds like anger, even though his blank expression says otherwise. Phil wants to feel hurt, but when Dan continues through gritted teeth he has to stifle a laugh behind his hand. “You show up in my room – out of thin air, may I add – fix my wound, do a load of other weird, creepy magic type of stuff—and _that’s_ all there is to say? Are you kidding me?”

Phil’s attempts at staying quiet are utterly crushed in that moment; he splutters with uncontrollable laughter at Dan’s reasonable, yet entertaining frustration, his tongue peeking out over his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” Phil manages to say after a few false starts, all while Dan glares at him in exasperated silence. “I just didn’t want to overload you with stuff. I can explain everything now, if you’d like.”

Dan folds his arms and huffs. Phil bites his lip as he struggles not to comment on the adorableness of it. “Well, yeah, that would be nice,” Dan grunts.

Phil freezes in place for just a microsecond as he takes a second to process Dan’s response to him, simple and accepting. “Just like that?” he asks, bemused. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

The snort Dan offers him is enough for Phil to understand that this isn’t entirely the case. "Don't assume that I _completely_ trust you," Dan scolds, pushing himself off the bed and walking over to the windowsill to lean against it casually. His attempts to appear nonchalant are almost convincing, but Phil knows better. "But, whatever. I'll bite."

Dan looks pointedly away from Phil, as if looking into his eyes is difficult, which hurts just as much as Phil expects it to. It should have been obvious that a first meeting with Dan would be rocky, for lack of better word, but the expected apprehension is hurtful regardless. The concept of Phil being a danger to Dan can’t be farther from the truth, but it’s a concept that Dan believes in nonetheless.

For Phil, such a concept is unacceptable. “I know it’s hard, but could you just try and suspend your disbelief for a few minutes?” he pleads. “I swear I’ll leave when I’ve answered everything. It’s just—I can’t really explain stuff to you unless I know you’re listening.”

The strain in Phil’s voice reaches Dan in ways that Phil’s words had failed to do; Dan’s face twitches, then relaxes, and Phil watches as his arms untangle from their protective stance in front of him and lower hesitantly to his sides.

“Sorry,” Dan says after a moment. He sighs, and rolls his shoulders back to release the tension in them. “Okay, I promise I’m listening.”

Phil nods, curling his lips back in an attempt to subdue a smile. The feeling of being acknowledged by his human is more than enough to undo all the emotional stress he’d suffered from Dan’s initial rejection.

“All right, then,” Phil says into the silence. Dan’s gaze never leaves his own, carrying a look of expectation, and suddenly Phil’s hit with a wave of speechlessness. _There’s that performance anxiety again_ , Phil curses to himself, wringing his hands together and swallowing. All the while Dan remains entirely unmoved, seemingly suppressing his urge to speak, for Phil’s sake.

“Right,” Phil tries again. He’s distracted by the corner of Dan’s mouth twitching upwards with impatience. Though Phil has always been the number one defender of even the worst of Dan’s habits, being on the receiving end of his judgement is a brand new experience.  It becomes clearer with every sharp exhale through Dan’s nose as to why others tended to have a short fuse around him.

It’s only after Phil’s third attempt at speaking that Dan finally snaps, breaking loose like a rubber band. “I’m sorry,” Dan barks – his tone doesn’t even come close to apologetic – and raises his hands with a forceful shrug. “Do you want me to ask things instead? Would that be easier?”

Dan may be acting purposely antagonistic, but Phil is genuinely relieved by his offer. “Um, if you want,” Phil replies quietly, his words sounding unsure despite the intentions behind them. Dan chews on his lip with barely disguised irritation, then he refolds his arms once again. He vents his annoyance with a long sigh, calming himself.

 _At least he’s trying_ , Phil thinks. Dan is infallibly surrounded by unbreakable walls. Breaking down those walls would take time.

"So, how old are you?" Dan asks, which strangely isn’t even in the top ten of Phil's list of questions he’d expected Dan to ask him. "Like, actually?"

Phil purses his lips and takes a moment to think about it. Time, he muses, has no particular rules in the ethereal world. There are no such concepts as day or night, nor even concepts of minutes, seconds or hours—quite simply there is nothing to measure as, unlike humans, angels do not live. They purely exist, and they exist to serve. Phil has existed for quite a while now.

Not as long as some, though. To many, Phil is still a child, despite what feels like an eternity of just _being_. Yet Dan had asked him about his age. He finds it somewhat peculiar that Dan would concern himself with that, as angels do not particularly _age_ ; they grow. They develop. And they never die, although sometimes, they expire.

Phil's thoughts are validated when he realizes that, from his perspective, he's been pondering this for at least two minutes, which would make for a very odd and awkward conversational pause. For Dan, it's been about two seconds. Phil works it out in his head before deciding, "About 2,400 years old, now."

"Wow," Dan replies. "So angels actually have birthdays and stuff?"

The sight of Dan’s preluding apprehension melting away is encouraging. It's oddly endearing to him that Dan finds such wonderment in the simplest of things, although Phil has to remind himself that humans themselves are incredibly simple (as they were designed to be, his Elders often tell him). Phil would like to argue that _his_ human is different, of course, as almost every Guardian does.

"In a manner of speaking,” Phil says. It's not entirely true, but Phil can't think of a way to explain it in a way that Dan will understand, at least not in English. There are a couple of words in Latin that might help, but Phil knows better than anyone that Dan has absolutely no linguistic skills outside of his own tongue. For some reason the thought puts a smile on Phil's face, evidently confusing Dan even further.

"Well, that's cryptic," Dan finally replies, looking somewhat dazed from shock. He's still standing and Phil is very tempted to suggest that he take a seat before he falls over. "I still can't believe it, though. Like, even though you're right here, I just... I don't believe in God, or anything."

"You should," Phil almost demands, folding his arms as he’s hit with a wave of defensiveness. "He's real."

Dan rolling his eyes shouldn't make Phil as angry—no, _disappointed_ , because it's his job not to be _angry—_ as it does, because he's watched over Dan since birth and knows exactly what he thinks about God. It’s, frankly, not very much at all.

Dan shakes his head, a passive smile creeping across his face as he does so. "To be fair, Phil, I'm still not entirely convinced you're not just a crazy stalker who broke into my house and is trying to steal my skin for his collection."

Which _would_ be a fair point, if Phil hadn't literally materialized in front of Dan's eyes about five minutes ago. "A crazy stalker with mystical powers?" Phil poses, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, Dynamo exists, doesn't he?" is Dan's brilliant retaliation, until he sees Phil smirk ever so slightly. Dan's hands drop to his sides and he stares at Phil, dead in the eyes, mouth agape. "Hold on a minute, _”_ he nearly wheezes, the revelation robbing him of his ability to speak. “You're not telling me freaking _Dynamo_ is an angel too, are you?"

Phil completely fails at holding himself together; his smile immediately transitions into a grin, growing even wider and more smug. "I didn't _say_ that."

"No way," Dan almost shouts, mostly to himself rather than at Phil. Phil winces and prays that Dan’s family are heavy sleepers. "So, what, like—David Blaine? Criss Angel? Derren Brown?"

Phil furrows his brow abruptly. "Not that last one."

"Yeah, bad example."

There's around two seconds of pure, uninterrupted silence before Dan explodes into reels of laughter. Phil smiles at the sight and laughs in turn, feeling both overjoyed at the sight of Dan's happiness and overwhelmed at the reality of finally being able to just _speak_ to Dan. Phil watches as Dan's eyes crinkle at the corners in an endearing half-moon shape as he laughs, and he feels his chest tighten in a familiar mix of love and pride.

Dan wipes at his eyes and takes one big breath, and sighs as he finally calms down.

"All right," Dan eventually rasps, worn out, snapping Phil out of his trance. "All right. I think I believe you. I mean, I have no proof—I have _limited_ proof," he adds hastily as Phil opens his mouth to interrupt him, "But I really can't think of anyone who'd go out of their way to pull a prank _this_ elaborate on me. And even if you area creepy stalker, you seem nice enough."

"I've watched you all your life," Phil admits; Dan's face twitches at the oddity of it. "So technically I am a stalker of some sorts."

"Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me," Dan snorts, rolling his eyes. "So you’ve seen everything? Give me a break."

"I can prove it!" Phil replies sternly. Dan raises an eyebrow, but he stays silent in order to let Phil speak. From downstairs, the sound of creaking floorboards and an oven being lit cuts through the tension and makes Phil flinch. Dan’s family are slowly beginning to wake.

He shakes off his nerves and focuses on Dan instead. Phil easily casts his mind back a couple of years – easily, not only due to his higher cognitive functions, but also because Dan is quite literally his entire world – and unlocks his inner library containing the life and times of Daniel James Howell. He picks out the most incriminating, and lists off as many facts as he can recall.

"In 2005, you broke your Dad's vinyl player and blamed it on your dog. At your first Sixth Form party, you drank too much and wet your friend's bed. You've watched the film _Moulin Rouge_ a total of 24 and a half times so far—sometimes you mute it and dub the lines over yourself because you know them by heart. You had a crush on your Dance and Drama teacher. Your first _video game_ crush was Sonya Blade—“

"Okay, that's enough!" Dan intervenes; his face is flushed a deep crimson, and his expression is a terrific crossover of shock and outright embarrassment. "That's really, really enough. Unless you've found my diary or something, that was a pretty convincing list of stuff."

"You don't have a diary," Phil interjects. The look on Dan's face shows he's given up trying to counter him.

"No, of course I don't," Dan says, sighing and looking utterly defeated. The room falls quiet again and Phil is reluctant to break the silence, because in all fairness, it must be a lot for Dan to take in. Luckily, though, he doesn't have to; after a few more seconds of dead silence, Dan's mother's voice rings up the stairs, calling him down for breakfast. It seemingly snaps Dan out of whatever dazed state he’d been caught in. He replies positively, yet he doesn't leave the room, instead biting his lip and glancing around nervously.

"Everything okay?" Phil asks. Dan nods, chewing on his sleeve.

"Yeah, it's fine," he replies after a moment. "Just, what do I say to my Mum and Dad?"

Phil visibly stills. "Nothing, I suppose? You might sound a bit, um—“

"A _bit_ ," Dan laughs in response, mentally filling in the blanks. "I just mean, like, what if they come upstairs and see you in my room?"

"Oh," is Phil’s flat reply. He rises to his feet and takes a few careful steps toward Dan as if going to hug him, then decides better of it. "Oh, no, I—I better head back, actually," he says dejectedly, the bitter truth of their situation dawning on Phil as soon as he speaks the words. "Truth be told, you weren't ever supposed to find out about my existence. I don't know why you can see me, but you can, so..."

"So?" Dan tilts his head slightly, a habit that he's adopted over the years. Seeing it up close makes Phil's heart swell.

Phil takes a small breath and fakes a smile. "So I guess it's okay for me to say I'll see you around?"

"Probably," Dan smiles back. Phil knows for sure that _he_ will see Dan around, but depending on his Elders' verdict on their situation, it's entirely possible that Dan will never see him again. His momentary sadness is interrupted when he hears Dan say, "See you whenever then, Phil."

"Yeah," Phil replies bravely, swallowing so as not to let Dan know that he’s quite honestly close to crying _again_. It takes an alarming amount of strength not to reach forward and pull Dan into a bone-crippling hug, or to stroke his hair out of his eyes like he used to when Dan was alone in a hospital bed. Instead, he shyly raises his arm and waves, preparing himself to leave. Dan mirrors the action, and the sight makes Phil’s heart pang.

It still hurts when he turns away from Dan to stare at the wall behind him, closing his eyes and readying himself to travel. With his destination in mind, Phil leaves nothing but his parting words behind. "Bye, Dan."

When he arrives at his home only a few seconds later, Phil immediately collapses onto his bed and groans. His vocal expression of misery feels akin to cleansing his body of all the stress, confusion and tension grasping his entire being, yet it doesn’t stop his heart from beating a mile a minute or his brain from feeling smothered with its perplexing thoughts.

What he’s assumed to be true has been right all along: miracles really _did_ happen, sometimes. It was just that, sometimes, those miracles felt less like a blessing and more like an oddly enjoyable curse.


	4. Chapter 4

"So let me get this straight," PJ starts for the third time since they sat down together, except now he’s stood up, pacing intensely in endless circles that make Phil feel somewhat nervous.

A whole week has passed since Phil’s encounter with Dan, and the decision to reveal this information to PJ has been far from easy to make. But the probing questions and concerned looks from PJ had chipped away at Phil until he had cracked, confessing everything in an explosion of emotion.

Unsurprisingly, the information is something PJ struggles to comprehend.

"You were... you were in your human's room," PJ tries slowly, hands moving wildly for emphasis with every syllable, "And all of a sudden—he just sees you?"

"Yeah." Phil nods, gaze locked on his lap. "He just—he looks right at me. Right into my eyes. And I think, no way this is for real.” He raises his head to meet PJ’s wide, yet curious eyes. Despite the surprise, behind them Phil can see hints of wild excitement. "But it was. He could totally, one hundred percent see me. And talk to me. And touch me."

There’s a very brief moment of silence where Phil watches PJ fight a losing battle with himself to withhold a smirk. PJ raises both eyebrows and playfully repeats his words. "Touch you?"

Phil’s scowl makes it clear that he’s unimpressed. "Not like that."

"Can anybody else see you?"

Phil shrugs; he hadn't bothered to stick around to find out. He prays to God that his newfound visibility is exclusive only to Dan, purely for the sake of convenience. "I don't know. I didn't see anybody else."

PJ puffs out his cheeks, releasing a long, bemused sigh. After a moment of seemingly absorbing the absurdity of the situation, he leans closer to Phil and asks, “What was it like?”

“It was completely amazing, and I’ve felt horrible since the moment I came back.” Phil drops his face into his hands and groans, loudly. Though the reality of meeting Dan had fallen short of his expectations, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Have you ever spoken to yours?”

“To my human?” PJ queries, shaking his head solemnly before carefully sitting down next to Phil against the stone wall. He sighs, then speaks again, lower this time. “Guardianship is a one-sided relationship, Phil. You know that.”

Phil watches as PJ cranes his neck towards the edge of their world, where Earth and all its humans are in plain sight. Phil’s eyes follow and fall on nothing at all, the world beneath them no longer bringing him the same feeling of wonderment that it used to. “We serve and protect them without reward. That’s the deal. Even if I _could_ speak to him, I don’t think I would.”

Regardless of PJ’s intent, the heavy weight in Phil’s chest refuses to clear. He bites his lip and asks, “Why not?”

PJ’s smile is small. “Because he might not want me, and then I’d have no reason to exist.” Before Phil can take a moment to understand what’s been said, PJ snorts and interrupts his thoughts. “He’s also somewhat insufferable.”

The two of them take a second to chuckle in unison. Years of standing by PJ's side watching enviously as he minded his human have taught Phil many things about the type of person he _could_ have ended up with. Needless to say, the trouble Dan has constantly found himself in has paled in comparison to that of PJ's human. For that, Phil counts his many blessings. Dan is, in himself, Phil's own personal blessing.

Their laughter dies down, and Phil traces a crack on the ground with one finger absentmindedly. “I didn’t even think about that," he admits softly. He pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them tightly. "I’m so confused.”

PJ nudges him carefully with his elbow, a teasing way of showing his support. “Maybe you should talk to the Elders," he suggests.

Phil shakes his head fervently.

“Not yet,” is his hushed reply, voice dropping out of fear of being heard. “Eventually. But not yet. I’m scared of—of what they might do.”

PJ frowns. “Such as?”

Phil mirrors his expression and huffs. “Erase his memory so he forgets he ever saw me? Reassign me to someone else and make me start all over again? Strip me of my title?” His tone is a little more aggressive than he intends, but it's hard to avoid; he's had an eternity to get used to the Elders' way of working, years and years of being condemned by them for his personal methods of Guardianship. The idea of giving them an opening between Dan and himself isn’t any form of appealing. “Take your pick. Pick all of them if you like. They’re all just as likely.”

He buries his head into his arms and grunts out a noise of frustration. PJ inelegantly pats his back, having entirely run out of words to say. Phil offers his own thoughts instead.

“This is you-know-who creeping back up on me,” he says bluntly. “This is my punishment.”

Next to him, PJ shifts uncomfortably. The patting movement of his hand grinds to a halt. “You think Death has something to do with all of this?” he asks.

Phil winces at the name as if it’s some kind of curse, and PJ provides him with a look of sympathy that Phil can’t see clearly from where his head rests.

“Could be. Who knows?” Phil replies, his voice muffled by his clothes. “I’ve never heard of someone getting in the way of Death’s duty before. I bet there’s a good reason for that.”

Giving Phil’s back one last hearty pat, PJ unexpectedly stands up and stretches. The somewhat sickening sounds of bones popping makes Phil lift his head to look at him with a disgusted glare. PJ provides him with an unsure smile and shrugs his shoulders offhandedly.

"Probably," is PJ's unhelpful response. He blinks, features softening, before acknowledging Phil with an accusatory look. "Just so you know, I'm still mad that you broke your promise and went back there."

Phil's about to open his mouth to say something, be it an excuse or an apology, but PJ raises a hand to silence him. " _But,_ I forgive you. And only because you look like you've suffered enough for one lifetime."

Phil's smile is slight and grateful. "Thanks, Peej. For looking out for me, and for Dan, too."

There's a fleeting moment where nothing is said. Phil rises hesitantly to his feet and bites his lip, gathering his thoughts together, searching for a way to articulate what he needs to say. When the moment passes, Phil is relieved to see that PJ is still waiting patiently for him.

"Peej?" he croaks, playing with his hands.

"Yeah?"

"Please don’t tell anyone," Phil almost whispers, a worried expression crawling down from his knitted brow to his curled lip.

PJ nods ever so slightly. "You have my word," he replies, giving Phil the go ahead to release a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. Before PJ can walk away, Phil catches his wrist and draws his attention back to him. _No need for secrets_ , he thinks.

"I'm going back tomorrow," Phil says. "But only to tell Dan that he shouldn't expect to see much more of me. Is that okay?"

PJ casts him a poignant look. "Of course it is," he sighs back, tired eyes meeting Phil’s own. It doesn’t sound entirely true. "Just—be safe. Please."

"I will," Phil promises. He lets go of PJ's wrist and watches him walk away, thankful for the company he's been gifted.

In truth, he's not sure if he's ready to go back. It had been risky enough to return back to Earth barely a day after leaving it, even more so after being away from home for so long beforehand. But the promise of seeing Dan again is tempting; spending weeks by Dan's side had been exhilarating, true, but actually s _peaking_ to Dan had been an incomparable thrill. Giving in to temptation is most definitely considered breaking angelic law, yet the temptation of Dan's company feels unbearably overwhelming.

The journey home is reflective, yet inconclusive. Phil opts to walk back rather than travel, both out of the fear of causing more harm to his already frail body and the need for space, the freedom to think. Being boxed into his room and forced to contemplate the day’s events would undoubtedly cause more stress, and the gentle air cleanses his mind with every soothing gush of wind caressing the trees he walks by.

 _Tomorrow_ , Phil thinks. He will see Dan again tomorrow.

* * *

 Tomorrow comes.

Sleeping had proven itself to be a difficult task. When Phil had first made contact with his human it had been unexpected – tossed mercilessly into the deep end, submerged in everything _Dan_ with no time nor means to prepare for it. But when compared to the churn of Phil’s gut whenever he acknowledges their impending reunion, another near-drowning is almost desirable.

The nerves are enough for Phil to consider calling the whole plan off – Dan could easily brush off their previous encounter as a hallucination, a dream, or a hazy, hospital induced mirage – but they aren’t enough for him to actually go through with the cancellation. He had, after all, made a promise.

It’s unclear, however, as to which person Phil’s fulfilling his promise to.

“Stop being stupid,” Phil mutters to himself, checking his appearance in the murky surface of his apartment’s singular window. There are no mirrors in his apartment—what need did an angel have for vanity? – so Phil’s forced to get creative whilst ensuring that he won’t look _entirely_ repulsive in front of Dan. From what he can barely make out when he squints, at the very least his teeth and hair are in an acceptable condition. “You’re just saying good-bye. Where’s the harm in that?”

The harm, Phil mentally replies to his own question, is the undeniable possibility that tearing himself away from Dan would be as challenging the second time as it had been the first. Before, Phil had tiptoed around Dan out of fear of losing the trust the two had yet to even form. But with fear and surprise now replaced with curiosity and acceptance, the idea of Dan anticipating a full length conversation with him makes his body shiver.

He arrives outside Dan’s workplace ten whole minutes earlier than needed; Dan always works the same shift on Fridays, ditching his uniform in exchange for his freedom at 3PM on the dot without fail ever since he was 16.  The knot in Phil’s chest tightens until it’s fit to burst with every passing minute, which becomes increasingly inconvenient as Phil realises it’s actually restricting his breathing. This is not the place nor time for the early stages of a panic attack, so Phil forcefully pushes down the desire to hyperventilate by distracting himself with a lengthy game of ‘ _How many bits of chewing gum are there on this pavement?_ ’

His total tallies up to 23 pieces when his game is cut short by a girl as young as 12 colliding into his arm with her backpack, forcing Phil to stumble backwards despite her minute size.

“Sorry,” the girl gasps. Phil’s head whips up to search for her startled gaze, then readjusts upon the realisation that she's far shorter than he'd expected. Mostly, he's stunned into silence by the sudden impact. The girl shuffles awkwardly away while Phil stands dumbfounded and alone.

 _That solves that mystery_ , _anyway_ , Phil thinks. He shrugs and irons out the newly formed creases on his coat from the collision. It turns out that other people could see him after all.

When the clock ticks over to 3PM, it’s difficult for Phil not to shudder with both fear and anticipation. He kicks at the ground as a way of relieving some of the tension in his body, and it works, for a while. Another minute passes and there’s no sign of Dan; some days it can be a whole half hour before Dan makes an appearance, trudging slowly with heavy steps to his car, coat slung carelessly over one shoulder. But his workplace at the end of a long day is the only place Phil can think of where Dan would be without responsibility or obligations, where he can intercept him without interference from friends and family. If possible, Phil wants to avoid bringing anyone else into his unfortunate mess.

After an eternity, the sound of the staff exit swinging open then clanging shut snaps Phil out of his trance, and surprisingly he’s met with the sight of the top of Dan’s head rather than his brown eyes. He’s looking downward at his phone, texting mindlessly and taking no heed of the world surrounding him, and taps a silent rhythm against his thigh with his other hand. Phil’s breath hitches at the sight of him, and he resists the urge to rub his eyes in disbelief. He would have to get used to this being his reality.

Eventually, Phil gathers up all his courage and makes an attempt to speak. “Um—Dan?”

His voice cracks through the syllables, hoarse and barely comprehensible since he’s made no effort to clear his throat beforehand, but Dan still hears him. His head whips up and Phil can finally see his eyes, wide and startled.

Dan slows down his pace to the point where he’s barely moving, but he never comes to a halt. Instead, he slips his phone into his jean pocket and tugs an earphone out of his right ear, moving hesitantly towards Phil.

“Hey,” Dan says carefully when they’re almost face to face. There’s still a noticeable distance between them; naturally, it seems that Dan is still cautious. “I, um, didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Oh, no,” Phil laughs awkwardly, then runs a nervous hand through his hair in a failed attempt at looking blasé. “Yeah, I just—like, I know you don’t have much to do now college is over, so—“

Phil stammers, every word in his head jumbling together and pouring out of him all at once. Dan’s face skews into an unrecognisable emotion, but it doesn’t appear entirely displeased, so Phil trails off before he ruins his chances of holding a real conversation.

Luckily, his nonsense somehow seems to get through to Dan, who shrugs at Phil in response with one hand loosely grasping his hip.

“No, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Dan says, pursing his lips. Inwardly, Phil sighs with relief and thanks the deities a million times over. “Just surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay,” Phil breathes. “Surprised.”

Though his initial reason for returning had been to say good-bye, it doesn’t make sense to part ways so soon. Yet the silence that falls between them is so heavy it’s crushing—smothering, even, to the point where Phil’s muscles actually begin to hurt from the way he’s hunched up with discomfort. Dan chews on the inside of his cheek—a bad habit that Phil restrains himself from scolding him for—whilst Phil picks at his nails, desperately wracking his brain for a conversation point that is both natural for the situation and interesting to talk about.

Dan hikes his bag further up his shoulder then scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “My car is being serviced so I took the bus to work today,” he says, unprompted. Phil nods with enthusiasm unfitting for such a statement, grateful more than anything for something to cut through the quiet. “And I’m kind of in the mood for coffee.”

Time halts for a smidgen of a second as Phil processes the words. He searches for every possible meaning before settling on the one that makes his heart race and his head swim from the implications. Phil clears his throat and folds his arms in what he prays appears to be nonchalance.

“Are you asking me out?” he tries bravely, although the truth is that his chest is tightening by the second.

“That’s not what I—” Dan chokes. Phil would feel offended by his blunt honesty, but the heat rising in Dan’s cheeks, staining them an adorable pink, is enough for immediate forgiveness. “I mean, yes, I’m asking you to come to Starbucks with me. So we can talk.”

Though he knows it’s the truth, Phil lifts an eyebrow teasingly at him just for the fun of it. Dan raises a fist to his mouth and coughs, saying, “Not on a date.”

Phil can’t hold back the laughter bubbling in his throat, so he doesn’t. He waves a hand in surrender in front of himself and splutters, “I’m joking, I promise. Yes, of course I’ll come to Starbucks with you.”

Dan straightens his back in a sorry attempt at hiding his embarrassment, something that earns a twinge of guilt from Phil. If the circumstances were different, Phil’s actions could be interpreted as harmless teasing, but it seems that pushing Dan’s buttons whilst trying to earn his trust is an unwise move. Phil mentally slaps himself on the wrist for his own carelessness, then he offers Dan a small smile which, thankfully, is returned.

“Let’s go then,” Dan says, tilting his head to the left to indicate that Phil should follow, which he does.

They walk side by side in barely comfortable silence. Phil occasionally forgets that he’s not invisible anymore, and he finds himself having to dodge collisions at the last second more times than he can count. He catches Dan glancing at him from time to time, sometimes stifling a chuckle at Phil’s almost-disasters, and other times wearing a knitted and contemplative brow.

Dan’s quietness is unsettling, and Phil is far too conscious of the passage of time to let his one day with Dan go to waste. He sighs, and makes the choice of addressing the obvious.

“So, have you had time to think about the whole Guardian thing?”

Dan glances briefly at Phil from the corner of his eye, and snorts as he looks away once more. "To be honest, Phil, you haven't said anything that extensive stalking of my browsing history couldn't tell you yet."

Phil chuckles. "Have you ever mentioned your crush on Sonya Blade on the internet before?"

"I don't think I've mentioned that to _anyone_ before."

“And with good reason,” Phil replies as they reach a pelican crossing. Phil’s hand lingers over the push button at the crossing for barely a second before he’s scrambling to catch up with Dan, who’s halfway across the road already, having determined for himself that the path is clear. Dan is saved just barely from a lecture on road safety when the sight of the flickering Starbucks sign only a few buildings away makes Phil’s stomach drop.

Phil’s nerves aren’t any better by the time they’re inside, although the warmth inside the coffee shop from both the heated refreshments and the congregation of people is a pleasant change from the blistering cold outside. Phil rubs his hands together, eyes darting skittishly from left to right with no clear direction. This goes unnoticed by Dan, who unzips his coat and scrunches it into a ball just small enough to squeeze into his bag, then pulls at his collar in discomfort.

Dan doesn’t waste a second skimming over the menu above the counter, instead choosing to approach the queue immediately with his order in mind. He cranes his neck over his shoulder to meet Phil’s eyes.

"Have you ever tried a caramel macchiato before?" he asks absentmindedly, pulling his left earphone out and stuffing the wires into his pocket.

Phil’s lips twitch upwards in a small smile. _He never changes_ , he thinks, and shakes his head. “No. What’s it like?”

For a moment, Dan’s eyes narrow and his mouth drops open in exaggerated shock. His body turns to match the direction he’s facing, and Phil resists the urge to step back in surprise. “Are you serious?” Dan says, tone accusatory and verging on offended. Phil lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, which only mortifies Dan further. "Aren't angels supposed to have ultimate omnipotence or something? Surely you know what stuff tastes like even if you've never had it before."

Phil laughs, though he’s overly conscious of the baristas only a few steps away. "I think you're thinking too much about this."

Unsurprisingly, Dan rolls his eyes, hands firmly placed on his hips. "Oh, I'm _sorry_ ," Dan replies, argumentative. "Next time I have a silly question I'll consult my handy-dandy book of angels first, shall I?"

Phil folds his arms and tuts at the jibe, but it’s hard not to grin at Dan's theatrics. They shuffle further down the line, and Dan catches the attention of a girl behind the counter, who asks monotonously what he’d like to order.

“Two caramel macchiatos, please,” Dan grumbles, glancing pointedly at Phil as he does so. Phil breaks at the look of judgement in Dan’s eyes and giggles behind his hand; Dan fails to keep a straight face, joining Phil in his laughter with ease. Dan pulls out his wallet from his coat pocket, still smiling. “You’re going to try it, and you’re going to love it.”

“If it’s as brilliant as you make it out to be, I’m sure I will,” Phil replies. The cashier tells them their total—their drinks chalk up to around £8.40, which is far too expensive for Phil’s liking—and Phil watches intently as Dan hums to himself, fingers sifting through the notes in his wallet. Dan’s brow knits together for no obvious reason, and he sighs, snapping his wallet shut.

“I’ve only got twenties. Do you have a tenner? I don’t want to faff about with that much change,” Dan says. Phil shuffles from side to side awkwardly, then shrugs.

“I, um, don’t have any money,” Phil almost whispers, less because of the fear of disappointing Dan and more so because of the cashier’s impatient tapping on the counter as she waits. Dan is disappointed, though, and he groans in response.

“Seriously?” Dan asks, opening his wallet once more. He turns back to the cashier, who immediately brightens back up when she meets Dan’s gaze, and hands her a lone £20 note.

“Why would I have money?” Phil whines back in response. Dan fakes a pout as he’s handed more coins than can fit in his palm, struggling to pour them into his wallet. “I don’t need it.”

Dan’s tut makes it clear that he agrees, but Phil knows it has never been in Dan’s nature to be reasonable. “Can’t you just—magic up some money?” Dan tries, scooting further down the counter to wait for their drinks.

Phil follows, hands in his pockets, and huffs at him when they’re face to face once more. “I can’t just make things out of thin air, Dan,” he explains, a hint of a smile on his lips. Dan’s gaze flickers down, catching sight of it, and he smiles back. “I can just—change things that are already there.”

Dan snorts. “That’s a _lame_ power.”

Phil can’t think of a rebuttal to that claim, because it’s not entirely untrue, so he chooses to stick his tongue out in place of a rude gesture. Dan’s laughter is more than enough to allow Phil to forget about his human’s difficultness, and the promise of a conversation to clear the air feels less intimidating and more inviting by the second.

When their drinks are handed over to them after a few minutes of mindless chatter, they settle on a sofa in the far corner of the room, far away from the other patrons. Dan drops his bag by his feet and kicks it further under the table, then he rests his drink on the tabletop. His eyes briefly meet Phil’s own in what appears to be a wordless invitation to sit by his side, which Phil is happy to accept. Phil perches stiffly on the end of the sofa, hyper-aware of being so close to Dan, while Dan lounges carefree across the seat as if he were in his own home.

 _He’s awfully comfortable with all this_ , Phil muses, gently resting his own cup on the table in front of them. While Dan’s inability to read a situation as dangerous is usually a concern, Phil doesn’t think now is a good time to lecture him on stranger danger.

As Phil muses to himself, Dan remains in silence, pursing his lips and tapping his forearm with one finger. Phil notices him deep in thought and waits for him to speak, fingers curling around his knees tightly. Finding balance between appearing unthreatening and hiding what can only be described as _neediness_ is more difficult than Phil has prepared himself for.

Suddenly, Dan's eyebrows shoot up, inadvertently pulling Phil back into reality. “Okay, I’ve got it,” Dan starts. “If you can only change stuff, then can you make my coffee go cold?”

Phil cranes his neck backwards to look at Dan, whose eyes are burning with unsettling expectation. Phil shifts uncomfortably and acknowledges Dan’s cup with a stiff gesture. “You paid for that.”

“Yes,” Dan says, dragging out the vowel mockingly and rolling his eyes. “And I’m asking you to make it cold for me. I thought you were supposed to do whatever I say, or something?”

Phil folds his arms at Dan's attempts at patronisation, a flaw that Phil has reluctantly grown to accept from his human over the years. “I’m supposed to do what’s best for you, not whatever you say,” he grumbles, reaching for his coffee and bringing it to his lips. Dan seems to momentarily forget their dispute, sitting up from his slumped position to watch carefully for Phil's reaction to the drink.

It's sweet. Phil purposely avoids showing any signs of enjoying it, out of pettiness. “How could you tell me what to do if you never even knew I existed?” he continues, settling his cup back down on the table. “I’m pretty sure that’s a fairy godmother, anyway.”

Dan sighs at the lack of response and leans back onto the arm of the sofa with his elbow. He snorts, but the corners of his mouth lift subtly in a small grin. “Oh, blah, blah, look at you and your specifics.” He motions towards Phil's drink, and for a moment Phil expects Dan to ask for his opinion regarding the treasured coffee. Dan dashes his expectations with a demand instead, his expression more than a little disappointed. “Okay, then. Make your own coffee cold.”

Phil pauses for a moment. “Cold coffee?” he repeats, to which Dan responds with an excited nod at the promise of something extraordinary. Phil feels his stomach lurch at the sight. Even with the knowledge that the request would be as easy to fulfill as breathing itself, a small part of him worries about failing. When paired with his nerves, something as simple as changing the temperature would feel like moving mountains.

He shakes himself out of his stupor by clearing his throat, and focuses intently on the drink in front of him. From the corner of his eye he sees Dan straighten his back eagerly, and Phil is forced to turn his head to block the image from his line of sight. It’s his first time using his abilities in front of an expectant audience, and the intense pressure threatens his focus.

The world dims around him, allowing Phil to hone in on the cup while his body hums with what feels remarkably close to electricity. After a few moments of heavy silence between them interrupted only by the quiet buzz of chatter from the other patrons, Phil tenses, then relaxes once more. The room around him brightens up again, everything surrounding him coming clearly back into focus.

“All right,” Phil says when he’s done.

Dan leans forward to inspect the cup and tilts his head slightly. Phil doesn’t even need to turn around to know that Dan’s expression is nothing short of confused. Angelic abilities could only be explained as ‘remarkably unimpressive’ when viewed in person.

“Freezing cold coffee,” Phil continues. “Although if you wanted that, you could have got the iced version instead.”

Dan is quiet for a moment, and swallows before he speaks. “What, no fireworks?” he jokes, his voice laced with what sounds like shock, or maybe even fear. Phil offers him an awkward laugh in response.

Dan hesitantly reaches forward and grabs the cup as if it were explosive, raising it gently to his mouth. As soon as his lips touch the rim and liquid touches skin, Dan’s face fluctuates through a plethora of emotions before he silently places the cup back on to the table. Barely a second passes before Dan drops his face into his hands and sighs, defeated.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dan breathes. “This is way too freaky for me.”

The words force Phil to break out into another grin. He makes the brave decision of leaning forward to place a hand on Dan’s shoulder and squeeze it with mocking support. Dan twists his neck slightly to look back up at Phil as he does so, his own smile reaching his eyes.

“Don’t make fun of my disbelief,” Dan laughs weakly. “This is still so—you know. _Weird_ to me.”

“I know,” Phil says, patting Dan’s shoulder. He lets it rest there for a moment out of pure self-indulgence before removing it unwillingly. “If it makes you feel any better, the fact that we’re even talking at all is like pigs flying to me.”

“Glad to know we both equally weird each other out.” Dan sighs once more, louder this time. He slumps backward onto the sofa and lets his eyes flutter shut. “I’ll be honest, this really isn’t how I expected my day to go. You’d think after working in retail for so long I’d be ready for anything.”

Though it’s clearly a joke, Phil frowns with guilt upon the realisation that Dan’s day has been significantly lengthened by his sudden visit, and probably made significantly more stressful, too. The pressures of work are usually enough to tire Dan out on the best of days. The confirmation that his Guardian angel really _hadn’t_ been a dream is unlikely to help matters.

The thought forces Phil to offer a guilty look to Dan, whose eyes are still firmly shut as if he were sleeping. “You know, that’s a good point, actually,” Phil says inquisitively after a moment, resting his chin on his palm as he speaks. “What are you doing back at work already? Considering how your wound looked last week, I figured you’d be housebound for a while.”

“It’s not _that_ taxing, you know,” Dan replies, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “Besides, two days in bed was enough for me. There’s only so much _Halo_ playing I can do before I get tired of sitting around.”

Phil clicks his tongue in thought, then he leans backward slowly to join Dan, who cracks one eye open to acknowledge Phil’s movement. Phil smiles bashfully at Dan’s bemused expression, hyper-aware of the lack of personal space when their elbows brush, and he unsubtly shuffles to put another inch of space between them. Dan frowns, but he doesn’t challenge it.

The sudden awkwardness is overwhelming, and painstakingly unbearable.

“Okay,” Phil barks a little too loudly when it’s finally too much, making Dan flinch. Phil winces a little in silent apology and lowers his voice. “Let’s talk. Go on, ask me anything.”

His forwardness earns a startled chuckle from Dan, who then turns his head and lets it drop lazily to one side so that they’re face to face. “I thought we already had the Q&A session in my room the other day?” he asks.

Phil pauses, then purses his lips. “I know. You said you wanted to talk to me, though.”

“Oh,” is Dan’s dumbfounded reply. The way he wrings his hands together in the following silence is curious, but Phil lets it slide.

“Did you have anything in mind?” Phil tries hopefully. The urge to question why Dan has taken him out to talk despite having no real intention of discussing anything is strong, but he pushes it down out of fear of threatening Dan’s comfort. “Like, anything I didn’t answer yesterday.”

Dan shrugs dismissively. “I don’t know. I sort of wanted you to prove yourself for real, but I guess you’ve done that already,” he says, gesturing once again towards the abandoned coffee on the table.

Phil twitches slightly, having entirely forgotten about their drinks. The act encourages him to reach forward and take several overenthusiastic gulps, shivering with disgust upon the realisation that his drink is stone cold. Dan raises a judgmental brow at him, but he spares him the mocking remark, for which Phil is thankful.

“But,” Dan adds, “I suppose now’s as good of a time as any to test you on the juicy details.”

Phil grins at him with newfound confidence. Intimate details of his human’s life is definitely a subject that he can ace. “Try me.”

Dan returns the smile just as eagerly, then he clears his throat. “Okay,” he hums, thinking deeply. His eyes widen for a brief moment when inspiration strikes, and Phil’s taken aback by his sudden energy. “Here’s your first one. What time was I born?”

Phil blinks in confusion. “Are you asking me because it's incriminating knowledge, or are you just curious?"

Dan offers him an unimpressed glare. “That’s not an answer.”

“Sorry,” Phil laughs. "It was 10:14AM. Your Dad moaned the entire time because he missed the _Match Of The_ Day repeats."

The grin doesn’t falter, but the excitement in Dan’s eyes dulls for just a second. “Did he?” he asks, disappointed. Phil nods sympathetically. “I had no idea. Sounds like him, though.”

Phil bites his lip. Oversharing details is definitely a mistake. “He wasn’t, you know, complaining. Just—“

“It’s fine,” Dan cuts him off, shaking his head. The unmoving smile on his face feels unnerving when paired with the dejection in his eyes. “Honestly, it is. Next question. What’s my lucky item?”

Phil opens his mouth to answer, then snorts before the words can be formed. “Your _boxers_ ,” he chuckles, raising a hand to his mouth to stifle it. Dan’s own lips curl in an attempt to subdue a smirk, as if forcing Phil to say it out loud is satisfying. “The ones you wore when you got an A* on your French exam even when you didn’t revise for it.”

“Not bad,” Dan replies, his tone impressed but his expression amused. “And for double points: Which ones are they?”

Phil scoffs. “Those _really_ ugly leopard print ones.” Finally voicing his opinion on what he considers to be Dan’s _vilest_ item of clothing feels liberating, even when Dan gapes at him in mock-indignation.

“I’ll have you know I take offense to that,” Dan yelps, though his eyes and his smile say otherwise. “Maybe my boxers don’t think you’re so hot either.”

Phil shrugs and makes a quiet humming sound, pretending to think. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

He almost misses it, but Phil is forced into blushing silence once more when he hears Dan very quietly mumble to himself, “Neither do I.”

* * *

Time, although generally considered an unnecessary concept to Phil, proves itself incredibly difficult to keep track of in the human world.

Though talking with Dan feels like an eternity of casual bliss, a social whirlwind of forming new inside jokes and finding common ground, it is approximately two full hours before the flow is interrupted by Phil’s body reminding him that Earth is most certainly _not_ his home. The sun sets fiery red over the stretch of Wokingham, signaling the end of another day, and the citizens scramble into the already bustling coffee shop to recharge before the journey home, crowding the atmosphere and threatening Phil’s entire being.

His arms shake, his breath quickens, and his skin flushes a deep crimson from the sudden heat of the room before Phil’s state of being is noticed by a terribly unobservant Dan, whose soft smiles and softer laughs fail to act as medicine for Phil in his time of need.

“Phil?” Dan asks gently when Phil’s fingers tremble around the rim of his second mug of coffee. Phil’s complexion is strikingly similar to the porcelain cup, but he smiles weakly at the verbal acknowledgement and feigns stability, which is difficult when the liquid splashes inelegantly onto the back of his hand when he grips it. “Is everything okay?”

Phil opens his mouth to speak, to assure Dan of his good health, but his dried out throat fails him. Naturally, his body refuses to lie to his human. He nods instead, but he’s met with unconvinced dark eyes.

“I’m fine,” Phil croaks in a less believable manner than he hopes for. “Just—the people. Being around too many people is—“

“Scary?” Dan interrupts. Though it’s not Phil’s word of choice, he finds himself nodding anyway. Dan smiles and tugs at the hem of his shirt, distracted. “Yeah, I know how that feels. Crowds make me feel kind of—anyway.”

Phil tries to explain, but the high temperature boils him from the inside. His attempts to swallow are in vain, and he splutters instead, the sound jolting Dan out of his unfocused stupor. Dan leans forward and presses a hand against Phil’s forehead, a luxury that Phil has difficulty enjoying when his entire body is molten lava.

“You’re seriously burning,” Dan says, concerned. His eyes dart from side to side in silent worry, and even in his desperate state Phil finds it difficult to ignore the twinge in his chest. Dan cranes his neck to survey the area—the counter, the toilets, the far corner where students sit lounging in untidy uniforms—then shakes his head in defeat.

Before Phil can condemn himself for being too brave, too cocky for challenging his identity as an angel and his inevitable reaction to the world around him, Dan puts an end to his thoughts by standing abruptly and making him flinch.

“Come on,” Dan mumbles, picking up his belongings in a quiet rush while Phil watches him in silent confusion. “There’s somewhere we can go where there’s no one else around. You might feel better outside.”

It’s too late in the day and Phil wants to argue, but the determination in Dan’s eyes negates his protests. “Okay,” is all Phil allows himself to say, and he trudges quietly behind Dan out of the crowded coffee shop into the open air.

The evening chill is a cool shower enveloping Phil’s body, and for a moment he considers pressing his bare palms onto the smooth concrete beneath him to soothe the burning of his hands. Dan hangs back as Phil walks sloth-like behind him, and the sight in itself is comforting enough to distract Phil from the overstimulation of all of his senses.

They walk for what feels like hours to Phil is his current state, though the reality can be nothing short of five minutes. The silence is comfortable this time, and although Phil occasionally prods and pokes for hints of where they can possibly be going, Dan shakes his head, a cryptic “You’ll see” his only clue.

Phil’s knowledge of Dan’s go-to spots proves itself useless when they appear at their destination; Dan grinds to a halt upon reaching the peak of a grassy hillside that Phil has only seen once before in Dan’s youth.

Phil scratches the back of his neck in confusion. “Why here?” he asks quietly, his voice wavering.

Dan shoots him a worried glance before looking away, down at the grass beneath them. “It’s nowhere special,” he says, kicking at the ground absentmindedly. “It’s where I met my first girlfriend when some friends and I went camping a few years ago. It was the first time I ever felt so peaceful, like I didn’t have to worry about anything. So I thought—you know.”

Phil nods. Years have passed since that day; the people in Dan’s life have disappeared as quickly as they came, and with them, their importance to Phil. Though Dan’s first romantic encounter had shaken their worlds at the time, three months of shy handholding and awkward kisses had ended predictably with an anticlimactic fizzle. Life had carried on, and the world had continued to turn. The only thing lost was Dan’s sole moment of peace.

A gentle breeze passes over their bodies and disturbs the blades of grass beneath their feet, and Dan inhales slowly, letting his eyes flutter shut as he allows himself to be enveloped in the atmosphere. Phil mirrors him, the cold air cleansing his lungs and cooling his skin.

Dan lowers himself carefully to the ground to avoid slipping on the smooth grass. As his head hits the dirt, he pats the space next to him in invitation.

“Everything okay now?” he asks.

Chewing on his lip in consideration, Phil hesitates for a brief moment before following Dan’s lead. “Yeah,” he whispers when they’re parallel, shifting slightly to find a comfortable position. He lets his hands paw curiously at the grass, the sensation foreign to him. The feeling is both sharp and soft, and it distracts him from his pounding headache. “Yeah, this is much better. Thanks, Dan.”

“It’s fine,” Dan replies, smiling and locking his fingers behind his head to support it. “If you’re my Guardian angel, I guess I should start giving back at some point. If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be dead, or something.”

Any possible response is cut off abruptly by the hitching in Phil’s throat at the word ‘ _dead_.’ Phil pulls at his collar, his mind cluttered with memories of Dan laying still in a hospital bed.

Dan inhales and exhales with every calm gust of wind, his eyes still shut and relaxed, though his brow is knitted in quiet thought. He releases a gentle sigh, then his eyes flutter open as if he’s waking from a dream.

"Can I ask you something?" he starts, breaking the silence.

Phil is grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, anything."

"It's a bit morbid."

Phil shrugs. "Okay."

Dan purses his lips in thought, then opens his mouth slowly. He closes it again, his brow furrowed. This action is repeated several times, all while Dan hums to himself in the moments he isn’t gaping, as if the words have been wrenched from his throat, leaving him with no other way of communicating them. Phil waits patiently, hanging on to Dan’s every sound.

 _Nothing new there_ , Phil thinks to himself. He almost laughs, but adding to Dan’s confusion in the moment would be foolish.

Dan lets out a quiet groan, frustrated. He sighs and mutters, "No, nevermind. It's—I guess it's not really important now."

"Are you sure?" Phil asks softly. His mind is racing to fill in the blanks that Dan has unknowingly crafted. "You can ask me anything, you know. I don't mind."

Dan shakes his head and lets his eyelids drop once more. "I know."

Phil resists the urge to comment on how Dan’s words and actions are so incredibly contradictory. Instead, the sound of the rustling trees and the cars driving by in the distance steal his words from him, filling the silence in ways that Phil is far too afraid to do himself. The sky has turned midnight black, dotted with stars, and Phil stares into the abyss silently. He has always looked down on Dan’s life from above him; he knows what that feels like. The feeling of looking up from below into an endless stretch of sky and space is indescribable.

He’s pulled back into reality by Dan posing another question."You said that God is real," Dan begins, his eyes still closed. "Which one?"

Phil rolls over to look at Dan's resting form. It's such a _big_ question to ask, but Dan looks so relaxed,  as if he hasn't said anything at all. It comforts Phil a small amount to see Dan so blissfully unaware of the world around him, the world Phil has tried so desperately to protect him from since birth. He pushes himself up to lean on his elbow and put his chin on the palm of his hand before responding.

"There's no one God, Dan," he tries, before knitting his brow and correcting himself. "Well, I suppose there is. There's one God, but there's no _one_ God. Get it?"

Though Dan's expression doesn't change even slightly, Phil knows that he's only confused him more. "No,” is Dan’s response. “Not in the slightest."

"Um," Phil stalls, searching for the words. He rolls onto his back once more and stares mindlessly at the night sky, back up at the stars. "Y'know ice-cream?"

Dan cracks open one eye, and twists his neck to look at Phil, raising his eyebrows questioningly. A smile plays softly on his lips as he asks, "Is that a trick question?"

Phil chuckles, gathers his jumbled thoughts together and continues. "No, just—just imagine there's a bowl of ice-cream. And everyone has access to this one, big bowl of ice-cream."

"Unhealthy _and_ unhygienic," Dan interrupts. Phil scowls at him, and then it’s Dan who is laughing. He shakes his head while he does so, and through stuttered breaths says, "Sorry. Go on?"

"Right," Phil tries again. Dan is looking at him properly now, leaning on his side in a way similar to how Phil had been just a few moments ago. "So whenever someone gets hungry, they go up to this big bowl of ice-cream, take their spoon and then they eat some. And it tastes like vanilla. But then, the person behind them does the same thing, except this time it tastes like chocolate. Following me so far?"

Dan nods. He isn't smiling anymore, but his eyes show Phil that he's listening intensely. Phil takes it as permission to carry on.

"Okay. So then another person does the same thing, and it’s strawberry. And then it's mint, and then it's raspberry, and so on.  But at the end of the day, it's still just ice-cream, right? Just different flavours of ice-cream."

"Right."

"It's the same basic food, but it tastes different to everyone." While he speaks, Phil plays with the grass on which they lay and pulls it apart in his hands. He sprinkles the remnants onto the ground beside them, allowing the wind to carry some of it away, and repeats as if it were a calming ritual. "It might taste similar to some people, too, but even then it might not be _exactly_ the same. It's unique to every person."

At some point during his speech, Phil had closed his eyes without even realizing it. He opens them when he's finished, turning his head to meet Dan's gaze. "Am I making sense?"

"You're making me _hungry,_ if that's what you mean," Dan says, smiling. Immediately, he regards Phil with a more serious expression. "I'm just kidding. I guess it makes sense."

Phil hums. It had, in all fairness, been a terrible explanation of one of humanity’s greatest questions. It was frustrating to have all the answers and no means to properly communicate them.

"What about people like me, though?" Dan whispers.

Phil acknowledges him with a confused look."Hm?"

"People who don't believe in anything."

"Oh," Phil says in response. He takes a moment to mull it over before shrugging. "That just means that you didn't eat the ice-cream. Or you did, and you didn't like how it tasted to you. And that's fine, too."

Dan offers him no response, so Phil allows his mind to wander as their bodies lay motionless in the quiet. His eyes drink in the stretch of stars above them, a vast pool of bright lights suspended high above. His ears hone in on sounds too far away for Dan to hear: in the distance he hears a church bell chime, its ringing echoing throughout the night like a distant call to him, and the all too familiar sound reminds him of his duty. A memory of PJ hits him without warning from a time long ago, when the two of them were humanless and waiting for a purpose. It’s incredible to Phil that his purpose is lying right beside him, on the ground far away from where he originally came.

The thought reminds him of how long he’s been with Dan, and suddenly Phil’s stomach drops with panic as he bolts upright. “Shit, it’s late.”

Dan blinks and glances at his watch. His face twitches when his eyes fall upon the dials. “Yeah, it is,” Dan agrees readily, pushing himself into a standing position from his place on the ground. He pats down his clothes to brush off stray blades of grass, then he stretches out a hand towards Phil. “I should go. My mum has probably called the police at least seventy times by now.”

Phil reaches his own arm forward and clasps Dan’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. “I bet she has,” Phil chuckles. Though she’s not his concern as a Guardian, it’s been difficult not to observe several key points about Dan’s serial worrier of a mother over the years. “But, um, I should go as well. Being here too long is—well, bad.”

Dan’s expression implies curiosity, but he remains quiet. “Okay,” he says after a moment, shrugging. “Will you come back? Like, tomorrow or whenever.”

Phil knows he should say no, his pale skin and pounding head reminding him of the dangers of giving in to the temptation. In his head he hears himself promise PJ that he’ll stay safe, that today is the last day and that tomorrow he’ll let himself rest. There is no logical reason for him to meet with Dan tomorrow. Phil knows that.

Nevertheless, logic rarely comes into play when his human is involved. “Yeah,” Phil says stiffly. He swallows and forces a smile, which Dan returns. “Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

It’s a barefaced lie, but Dan has no way of knowing that—not when his smile grows subtly wider at Phil’s words, reaching his eyes and forming creases at the sides in genuine happiness. Phil inwardly curses himself for his inability to say no, and he begs PJ for forgiveness over and over for breaking another promise to him.

Of course, betraying PJ feels like a small crime to commit when Phil sees the light that had once burned out in Dan’s eyes flicker quietly back to life.


	5. Chapter 5

“You don’t have wings,” Dan states without warning, eyes focused intensely in front him.

Phil tears his gaze away from the screen to cast a judgemental glance, then he shrugs upon the realisation that Dan isn’t looking at him at all. “That’s a myth,” Phil explains dryly, shuffling backwards to allow himself to be supported by the stack of pillows behind him. “People needed an explanation for how we moved from place to place. Wings were the first thing they thought of, I guess."

Dan hums, contemplative, and gasps softly when his concentration begins to slip. “Okay,” he starts when he’s focused once more, while Phil fights to hide a scowl when he loses the advantage. Dan is quiet for a moment, and his phone lights up and vibrates on the carpet beside him. He slams a hand over the screen to silence it without looking away, chewing on his lip with determination, before he speaks again.

“You don’t wear robes.”

Phil laughs this time. His colourful t-shirts and black jeans definitely contradict the common visualisation of angelic kind.

"We used to. We got with the times a little bit." Memories of long, flowing white robes that trailed against the ground, tangling themselves between Phil’s lanky legs, send shivers down his spine. Luckily, centuries of existence have helped repress his memories of those fashion disasters.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Dan nod in response, too absorbed to offer any verbal acknowledgement. The sound of fingers smashing mercilessly onto plastic fills the silence between them, and the flashes of light and colour before them illuminate the dark room as the tension rises. Phil mutters under his breath as he matches Dan’s bravado, his lips turning bright red from being bitten, and he nearly misses it when Dan questions him again.

"Okay, this is the most confusing one," Dan almost shouts, the blaring music and sounds of swords crossing flooding the room. Their button mashing increases in both speed and power, the two of them jaggedly leaning from left to right to match the image in front of them, before the sounds and movements are brought to an end by the words ‘ _GAME OVER, PLAYER 1 WINS_ ’ flashing obnoxiously in fuchsia. Dan grins, slamming his controller on the carpet with elation, while Phil playfully throws his own controller to the ground with a pout. Their eyes meet, and then both of them are grinning, eyes alight with energy.

Dan opens his mouth to gloat, then thinks better of it, instead choosing to continue his question. "If you've been watching me all my life, why do you sound like a _Northerner_?"

Phil throws his head back and laughs, tears pricking at his eyes at the refreshingly honest query. When he catches his breath again, exhausted from both laughter and his overenthusiastic button mashing, Phil wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and sighs.

"That's just how I sound. It's a complete coincidence. I'm being _serious_ ," Phil adds when Dan raises an eyebrow at him, his own mouth forming a questioning smile. "Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I think that's the quote."

“You are _so_ strange,” Dan snorts, leaning over to give Phil a playful shove. Phil moves to bat his hand away, but when Dan moves it away first, Phil instead paws hesitantly at the fabric where Dan’s hand had made contact. He prays that if he’s even visible in the dim glow emitting from the screen, his embarrassed blush can be passed off as a reaction to the lack of ventilation in Dan’s stuffy, unorganized room.

Though Phil had promised Dan he’d return as soon as possible when he’d left the day before, a small part of him had privately wished that PJ would be around to stop him, to drill some sense into his easily swayed brain. It hadn’t been that Phil wasn’t desperate to spend the majority of his waking moments with his human; rather, it had been the very fact that he _was_ desperate that made him wary, a screaming alarm in the back of his mind telling him to back off and think it through. PJ hadn’t been there, though, most likely tending to his own human as Phil had snuck quietly back to his own apartment, guilty and skittish.

Knowing that he’s betrayed PJ’s trust twice, the concept of meeting his best friend face to face once more is enough to fill Phil with dread. It would be foolish of him to lose his greatest support system for the sake of a guilty pleasure, but a single glance at Dan from where they sit cross-legged on Dan’s yellowing carpet as the two of them waste precious time is enough temptation to make Phil question his morals.

“One more round?” Dan asks, oblivious, wrenching Phil out of his reverie. Phil blinks and pulls himself back to reality, then he winces as the ‘ _GAME OVER_ ’ screen reminds him of his embarrassing defeat. Dan smirks at the sight, smug, and reaches behind him to dip a hand into an oversized bag of Doritos.

Immediately, Phil shakes his head at him and groans. "I'm tired of this game," he whines. Dan pushes the Dorito bag towards him in offering, and Phil reaches inside to take a few. "Can't we play that other game? The one you really liked when you were younger. I think it was called Fantasy-something."

Dan blinks for a second in deep thought, and Phil takes the silence as an opening to shove a handful of snacks into his mouth. "You seriously sat through hours of _Final Fantasy 7_ grinding with me?" Dan says after a moment, his voice laced with disbelief. Phil’s mouth is full, so he nods enthusiastically in agreement. Dan laughs to himself, both at the memories and the sight before him, before shaking his head. "That phase of my life lasted months. You must have been bored stiff."

Phil swallows the mouthful and shrugs. "I didn't mind. You looked like you were having fun." When he hadn’t been online, Dan had spent a large amount of time in his pre-teens glued to his television, hour after hour, lost in a fantasy world. Though it hadn’t made for an entertaining use of Phil’s time, seeing Dan’s delight upon completing the game had been endearing enough to warrant it as acceptable. "It's also a lot easier to keep an eye on you when you're shut in your bedroom."

“I can imagine,” Dan snickers, rolling up the plastic bag and throwing it onto his bed without standing. The bag reaches its destination, though a few Dorito crumbs fall out onto the newly clean sheets, which Phil scowls at. Dan raises one shoulder at his disapproval and continues, “Not a fan of _Tekken_ , then?”

“Not when I’m losing at it,” Phil huffs, to which Dan cackles with satisfaction. He leans forward to press the power button of his console, and the machine powers down; Dan’s TV flickers suddenly blue, tinting the room with its loud colouring. Phil raises his eyebrows at Dan’s decision, wordlessly communicating his confusion to Dan, who picks up on his curiosity without hesitance.

“We’ve been playing for two hours,” Dan explains, before pushing himself into a standing position and stumbling towards his bed, his legs numbed from hours of being stationary. He takes the remote control from atop his bed and turns off his TV, and following this flops backwards inelegantly onto the mattress. “Need to give my eyes a rest. They’ll go square at this rate.”

Phil chuckles and moves to stand on his own feet. He stretches, body tense from the lack of movement, and reaches over to yank open Dan’s curtains. The TV had been their only light source, and the action immediately floods the room with unforgiving sunlight. He walks over to perch on the end of the bed where Dan lays starfish-style, one arm cast over his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from the brightness. “I don’t think that’s possible,” Phil chides.

Dan exhales sleepily. “You never know.”

Phil laughs and twists his body to observe Dan’s own, relaxed and unmoving. Dan’s gentle breathing fills the silence as they rest comfortably on his bed, and Phil’s almost hit with a pang of jealousy at Dan’s carefree lifestyle.

Dan cracks one eye open and acknowledges him with a scowl. “That’s really creepy.”

Momentarily, Phil questions as to when Dan had gained the ability to read minds. He blinks, startled. “Sorry?”

“Staring at me like that,” Dan says groggily as he pushes himself up, his arms resting behind him as he leans on his palms in a slanted position. Though his words are accusatory, the growing smile on his face implies otherwise. “Were you thinking something weird?”

Chuckling nervously at the coincidence does little to support Phil’s case. “No, no, I was just spacing out.”

Dan releases a long, drawn-out hum to indicate that he doesn’t believe him, matched with the mischievous look on his face. Phil rolls his eyes at him, and raises his foot to gently kick at Dan’s shins with false annoyance. Dan briefly appears to rise to the challenge, lifting his own leg to reach across to Phil, but whines when the effort is too much for him in his fatigued state. Phil laughs at his purposefully pathetic theatrics, which Dan acknowledges by sticking out his tongue at him, all fight drained from his body.

“Whatever,” Dan grunts, sighing at his obvious defeat. Phil inwardly thanks the deities for Dan’s disinterest. It’s unlike Dan to not push for information, but luckily his exhaustion overwhelms his curiosity. “I forgot how fun it is to play two players. All my friends left for university last year, so I’ve not really had the chance.”

Phil smiles and says nothing. He’s eager to move on from the subject of Dan’s college friends before the conversation even begins; Dan often steered clear of the topic himself.

When he’s provided with no response, Dan stretches and lies flat on his back once more. He stares up at the ceiling in silence for a while before saying, “You know, even though I barely know you, it kind of feels like we’ve been friends for ages. Isn’t that weird?”

Phil’s immediate response is an incomprehensible stammer, a mixture of shocked laughter and a sorry attempt at hiding the grin breaking out across his face. He slurs his words until they resemble nothing at all, while Dan looks on with a confused expression.

“It’s not that weird,” Phil finally manages to say, face flushed with embarrassment from his reaction. “I mean, I know loads about you already. It’s easy to get along with someone when you don’t really have to go out of your way to learn about them first.”

In the quiet that follows, Dan takes a second to think about it. “I guess,” he replies, staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. He clicks his tongue and rolls over onto his side to face Phil.

Dan’s hair is disheveled, and Phil momentarily questions whether reaching out to brush a lone strand away from his forehead is crossing a boundary. These questions were easily ignored with the power of invisibility, but such gestures had to be sacrificed for the luxury of Dan recognising his existence. His inner conflict is short-lived, however, when Dan pushes himself up into a seated position once more. The rest of his fringe falls back into place, and Dan acknowledges Phil with curious eyes.

“I want to learn about you, though,” Dan admits sheepishly. Phil swears that his heart stops beating for just a moment, forcing him to hold his breath. “Because, yeah, you’re right. You know pretty much everything about me, but I can’t say the same for you.”

The joy of Dan’s words overwhelms Phil, so he laughs in place of speaking. Disappointment graces Dan’s features when he misreads Phil’s reaction, and Phil stammers to clarify. “Sure you can,” Phil says quickly, ironing creases out of the bedsheets nervously to avoid meeting Dan’s dejected eyes. “I’ve told you lots about me already.”

As he thinks, Dan chews the inside of his cheek. “I know,” he responds after a moment, shrugging. “But what I mean is—like, yeah, I know stuff about you as a Guardian. But I don’t know much about _Phil_ , and I honestly want to.”

Phil swallows. He looks back up and meets Dan’s serious, determined stare, and lets out a gentle sigh.

Dan gives him no opportunity to speak, though, and continues on quietly, “Look, I know you’re basically a stranger. I get that. But I feel like you understand so much about me, and I’ve never really met someone like that before. It’s been a while since I had a real friend.”

It’s Dan’s turn to blush this time; barely noticeable, but the paleness of his complexion betrays him to even the faintest of colour. His gaze flickers down to his nails as he picks at them, and Phil listens on in captivated silence. “I can’t help being curious, you know? Because apparently you’ve looked out for me all my life, and I don’t even know who you are.”

An unexplainable urge to comfort overwhelms Phil as he opens his mouth to speak. There’s something about Dan baring his heart and soul that’s remarkably touching, solidified by the fact that Phil’s entirely aware of how rare of an occurrence it is. Dan is a poster child for bottled feelings, an ambassador of ignored troubles. If Dan’s only request of him is to play the role of ‘friend,’ then it’s hardly a chore for Phil to comply. He’s steps ahead of that already.

Phil purses his lips and gathers his thoughts, prepared to assure his human of his readiness for fulfilling his angelic duty—until the bedroom door swings open, loud and startling, causing Phil to flinch and whip his head towards the entrance in shock. He’s met with the taken aback expression of Denise Howell, laundry bundled in one arm as she holds the door open with another, her puzzled gaze flicking rapidly between her son and the stranger beside him.

Her eyes linger on Phil for just a moment, her eyebrows knitted together, before a noticeably forced smile crawls across her face. After a moment, she acknowledges Dan quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know you had a friend ‘round.”

Phil raises an arm stiffly to wave, smiling weakly in return. Though keeping himself a secret from Dan’s family has been off Phil’s itinerary since discovering his visibility applied to all, it’s nothing short of jarring to be recognised by his own human’s mother. “Hello, Mrs Howell.”

“Hello, dear,” she replies nonchalantly, her previous apprehension masked with politeness. She enters the room, pulling the door closed behind her. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“This is Phil,” Dan interrupts quickly before Phil can speak, flashing him a worried look from the corner of his eye. “He’s my friend from—college.”

“Nice to meet you,” Phil says hurriedly. “Sorry for coming over unannounced.”

Dan’s mother smiles, seemingly more genuine this time; it’s telling from the way a small dimple dents her cheek, similar to that of her son’s. “That’s all right, Phil,” she says, only half acknowledging him, already busying herself with Dan’s clothes, strewn messily across the floor. She pauses for a moment upon reaching the end of Dan’s bed where the Dorito’s bag lays abandoned, and she sighs audibly.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Dan’s mother says, moving towards the door. “Dan, sweetheart, when you’ve got a spare moment, can you drop a letter off at the postbox for your Dad? He forgot to take it this morning.”

Dan groans and rolls his eyes, but nods regardless. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbles, brushing the remaining Dorito crumbs onto the floor absentmindedly. His mother scoffs, and Phil folds his arms in judgement. “We’re going that way anyway. Phil and I are going to the cinema in a bit.”

“Just don’t forget,” she warns, reaching for the doorknob. Her hand lingers on it for just a second before taking one last look over her shoulder. She looks at Phil once more, and her expression shifts to one of shock. “Oh, dear, do you need a plaster? A bandage or anything?”

Despite the temptation to look over his shoulder to see if there’s a fourth person behind him, Phil resists. He’s positive that he can only sense the three of them. He tilts his head, confused. “No?”

Denise mirrors his position and gestures towards Phil’s body, too broad for him to understand where she’s pointing. There’s no need for him to make any deductions, though, as she clarifies herself almost immediately. “Are you sure? That’s a rather nasty mark on your arm.”

“Oh,” Phil replies, dumbfounded, and drops his head to investigate. Phil hasn’t been aware of any marks on his body, nor has he felt any pain since returning to Earth, but one sweep over himself reveals a long, shining mark across the length of his left forearm. The sight stuns him into silence, his gaze fixated on the newly appeared gash. He reaches a tentative finger towards it and trails the length, finding it to be smooth rather than bumpy, as if only an illusion.

The weight of Dan’s and his mother’s stares are crushing, so Phil shakes off his confusion and shrugs indifferently. “Oh, no. That’s a scar,” he lies, effortless. A more thorough investigation would have to come later; the implications of a sudden mark are concerning, but not urgent.

Dan’s mother bites her lip, unconvinced, and hums quietly to herself. “I see,” she mumbles eventually, hiking the laundry further up her arm to support it, and turns back towards the door. She grasps the door handle with her free hand and twists it. “Well, have a good time, boys. Don’t be too late.”

The door clicks shut, and Dan sighs audibly, seemingly draining all the tension from his body. Perhaps visiting at a time when Dan’s family are around is not the wisest of choices; such encounters would undoubtedly result in probing questions later on for the both of them. Phil cranes his neck to look at Dan, who’s staring intently at the mark on Phil’s arm and wringing his hands together as if resisting the urge to touch it.

Phil raises an arm in front of Dan’s face and waves it in a light-hearted attempt at wrenching Dan from his stupor. “Anyone home?” he tries, smiling. Dan blinks, shaking himself awake, and widens his eyes as they focus on Phil’s face once again. He returns the smile, laughing quietly, and shakes his head.

“Yeah, sorry, just—just spacing out,” Dan mumbles, reaching upwards to stretch. He yawns as he does so, squeezing his eyes shut, and Phil ignores the nagging voice at the back of his mind tempting him to jab Dan’s side to make him jump.

Instead, he grins and mischievously echoes Dan’s words. “Were you thinking something _weird_?”

Dan rolls his eyes in exasperation and elbows him playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says, pushing himself off the bed and making his way over to his desk where his phone lays, along with his wallet. Phil snorts and makes no effort to make it clear that the answer is undoubtedly yes. Rather, he stays seated, patient, and silently prays that Dan doesn’t probe in regards to his newly formed mark. Though Phil has many answers to many questions, the origin of such a blemish is not one of them.

“We should go,” Dan says when he’s collected his things, placing them into his bag and zipping it up. “I thought it’d be a good idea to show you some things that you might not have experienced before. Kind of like a tour guide.”

Phil feels the grin stretch out his face. “Well, you can cross video games and Starbucks off the list,” he replies, walking over to join Dan. “I’m guessing next is the cinema?”

“You’d be guessing right,” Dan smiles, heading towards the door and indicating that Phil should follow him, which he does. “There’s a couple of films I’ve wanted to see, but I’ve not had the time considering—well, you know,” Dan trails off, shrugging. Phil tries and fails to hide the grimace that graces his expression, the unsaid implications enough to make him shudder.

Phil wracks his brain for something, _anything_ to distract them from the line of thought that would naturally follow, but Dan saves him the trouble. “Let’s go,” Dan says after a brief second, rushing out of the door as if physically escaping the conversation. Phil is happy to oblige and hurries out after him.

It’s exhilarating to Phil to exist in a reality where he and his human can waste time together, something the billions of other Guardians in existence would turn green with envy for. There’s something relaxing about living as a human, walking down the streets as one of them without worry, blending into the crowds as if he doesn’t know the world’s darkest secrets and the answers to humanity’s many questions. It’s completely unsurprising to Phil that so many angels fall victim to such a dream now that he’s living in it. The days of wishing for just a single moment with Dan feel so far away as the two of them scramble out of the house, rushed good-byes being exchanged with Dan’s family as they leave.

The mark on Phil’s arm throbs as the outdoor air hits him, burning and constant. Phil closes his eyes, wears his brightest smile, and runs to catch Dan as he walks a few steps ahead.

* * *

Phil has experienced the cinema in many ways up until now, but always vicariously through Dan’s many teenage ventures and never with his own body. It’s a lie to claim that he’s never spent an hour or two beside Dan and his friends on a Saturday afternoon, but it’s an even bigger lie to claim that he’s spent any of that time paying attention to films. Watching the lights reflect off of Dan’s eyes during a heated action scene, or the way his face cringes just slightly during a rather lengthy love scene, proves to be far more entertaining than any Hollywood blockbuster, although Phil has oftentimes been distracted from the show by the alluring scent of the cinema food that he’s never been able to try.

Until now. Phil stares down into the extra-large bag of popcorn in his hand and inhales gleefully. His other hand twitches with a desperate need to dip inside it, and his mind even more desperately fights to suppress it.

“Here you go,” Dan shouts over the crowd’s chatter as he jogs over to Phil, two tickets in hand. Phil blinks and reaches up to take one when they’re face to face again, noting how Dan’s cheeks are now stained red from exertion, before squinting slightly to read the printed writing. ‘ _AVATAR 3D – 12A. RUNTIME: 2H 42M.’_

When he looks back up again, Dan is smiling at him, his eyes glistening. “I’ve been dying to see this,” he says excitedly, placing his own ticket deep into his coat pocket. “Seeing it in 3D is a bit more expensive, but the CGI is going to look amazing.” Dan raises a hand to his chest to exhale, catching his breath.

Phil fights to hide the smile that threatens to break at Dan’s enthusiasm. “You’re using way too many acronyms for me to keep up, Dan,” Phil laughs, and he’s met with an exaggerated eye roll. “How much was it?”

“With the glasses, it’s about £8. Which reminds me,” Dan says and hands Phil a thick pair of black glasses, neatly folded together. “These are for you.”

Phil struggles to balance his popcorn in his hand as he reaches forward to grab them, his ticket still grasped in the other hand. “Glasses?” he questions as he lifts them in front of his face to see them more clearly. He turns them at every angle to inspect them and places them gently on his face, the world around him immediately dimming as if he were wearing sunglasses. Dan snickers and raises a hand up to remove them from Phil’s face, placing them on top of his head instead.

“They’re 3D glasses,” Dan clarifies, gesturing towards his own hanging tidily on the collar of his shirt. “You put them on when the film starts and it makes everything look real.”

Phil nods, smiling. “Interesting,” he says, and pretends that this knowledge is new to him. Dan’s gleeful expression makes it clear that Dan is enjoying his new role as humanity’s tour guide; it feels cruel to rob him of such a pleasure.

They take the seats at the back of the cinema—“The seats at the back are the best,” Dan mumbles as he rushes up the stairs, and Phil takes a second to apologise to the group of teenagers he bumps into on the way past—and Phil settles down with ease in the comfortable chairs, his popcorn still untouched. Dan reaches over him from his own seat to take some and shoves a handful gracelessly into his mouth. Phil glares at him with mock jealousy.

Dan swallows and points at the bag, oblivious to Phil’s judgement. “I got us—“

“Salted, not sweet,” Phil interrupts without thought. Dan’s eyes widen at the accuracy, though his surprise is unfounded; Phil can’t recall a single time in Dan’s life when he’s ordered sweet popcorn. Dan hesitantly places another piece into his mouth, and Phil shrugs. “Sweet popcorn makes you feel ill.”

Dan chews, swallows, and casts him a troubled glance. “I feel like I should definitely feel weird about you knowing all these things.”

“You _don’t_ feel weird about it? I would.”

Lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug, Dan reaches over to take another handful. “Not as much as I should,” he admits easily. He raises a hand to cover his mouth as he talks, still chewing, but courteous enough to spare Phil the view. “It’s like I can’t surprise you with anything. It’s actually kind of impressive.”

Phil hums as a way of replying and purses his lips in thought. Perhaps he has been too eager in his attempts to prove himself to Dan; jumping at every opportunity to prove his legitimacy as a Guardian could easily backfire, a fact that Phil has conveniently forgotten in his rush to gain Dan’s approval. After all, the prospect of a stranger knowing the most intimate details about yourself is a terrifying one, but it’s one that Dan seems to have accepted far too easily. There’s no fear in Dan’s eyes when they talk, no uneasiness in the smiles they exchange.

 _There has to be a reason_ , Phil thinks, but he keeps his thoughts to himself.

They sit through the trailers mostly in silence, although sometimes Dan leans over to offer short reviews on movies that mean nothing to Phil. He nods through it, though, laughing at the correct intervals and providing an interested “ _Really_?” when it’s been too long since he’s spoken. When the movie finally begins, Dan is too absorbed in the flashy CGI and dramatic music to notice Phil’s mind drifting, his thoughts trailing off to words he would never dare speak out loud.

Because elementally, Phil can’t think of anything particularly romantic about going to the cinema with a person he considers a friend. It’s impossible to talk without breaking the ambience, and battered chairs with limited legroom are hardly the most comfortable setting for an amorous rendezvous. Still, something about it makes his stomach flip when their hands brush in the popcorn bag, or when Dan leans over to whisper a witty remark, the close proximity making him shiver.

He also can’t help the feeling of guilt that grasps him when their eyes meet, a mutual feeling of trust expressed between them despite the ridiculousness of it. Dan is lonely and desperate for friends; it would be wrong of Phil to exploit such a weakness for the sake of infatuation. Phil’s job, first and foremost, is to ensure Dan’s happiness no matter the cost. Though there are no official angelic rules forbidding Phil to pursue his human romantically, his own moral code rejects the idea if it means imposing upon what Dan really needs.

Phil stares down at the bag of popcorn, now half-empty, and sighs. Dan had said that he needed a friend—and nothing is more important to Phil than what Dan needs.

* * *

Sneaking back to his apartment the first time had been what could only be described as a lucky break. Unfortunately, Phil has never had a reputation for being lucky.

Though he knows that avoiding PJ forever is not only an unreasonable concept, but also an impossible one, Phil’s mind still tries to convince him that such a goal is achievable with enough willpower and strategic travelling. With an encounter with Death _and_ the power of visibility to humankind on his side, Phil’s willing to believe anything to be possible at this point—even the idea of never meeting with his best friend again.

But no amount of planning is enough; PJ has never been predictable.

“Where on earth have you been?” Phil hears from behind him as he tries and fails to creep quietly back to his apartment. The sound of PJ’s voice makes him flinch with surprise, then he winces upon the realisation that he’s unquestionably been caught. Phil sighs heavily and lets his shoulders drop before he turns hesitantly towards his friend, a forced smile on his face. The fact that he’s met with an even brighter grin makes the feeling of guilt hit even harder.

“PJ,” Phil breathes, the adrenaline in his veins making his voice crack. PJ raises a confused eyebrow, the corners of his lips faltering, and says nothing. “God, it—it feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

PJ grins at his words, then jogs over to meet him. “I know,” PJ laughs as he approaches Phil, his messy curls bouncing with every small movement. When they’re face to face, PJ raises an arm and claps it on Phil’s back affectionately. “I’ve been so caught up with my human that I completely forgot about my own life. Things have been hectic—family drama—you know how it is.”

Phil nods with false attention, only half listening. He nervously attempts to hide his left arm behind his back, his right hand clasped firmly over the mark. PJ’s gaze flickers downwards momentarily at Phil’s jagged movements before meeting Phil’s restive eyes once more. Phil feels his breath hitch in his throat and prepares himself for the impending interrogation.

“How are things with you?” PJ asks gently instead.

Phil swallows. A million lies fly through his brain as he struggles to latch on to one, and inwardly he curses himself for not preparing an excuse beforehand. “About the same, really,” he finally manages to stutter when PJ’s worried stare is far too intense for him to look at directly anymore. He lets his own gaze drop quietly to the ground beneath them. “Uneventful. Lots of sleeping involved.”

PJ breathes a soft laugh at his words before he grasps Phil’s shoulder, leading the two of them to a bench nearby. They settle in brief silence—Phil folds his arms in a subtle attempt at covering his mark—and peer deeply into the stretch of open sky above them before PJ acknowledges him once more. “And how’s Dan doing?”

Phil continues to stare straight ahead. “He’s fine,” he says after a moment, his voice low. “He’s back at work again. Only one shift a week, but—well, I worry.”

“I know you do,” PJ says back to him, raising a hand to Phil’s shoulder to squeeze it comfortingly. “But at least the two of you have been getting some rest. I haven’t seen you at your watchpost recently.”

“Doctor’s orders,” Phil chuckles, elbowing PJ with an impish grin. The conversation is a sweet reminder of why PJ remains his best friend, even centuries after their first meeting; PJ cares. In a world where a Guardian’s only responsibility is their human, caring for another angel is hard to come by. “I don’t know. I guess I just haven’t felt the need to be there lately.”

It’s not completely a lie, but Phil still can’t look PJ in the face when he says it.

“That’s good to hear,” PJ says kindly. “Just don’t slack off too much. Didn’t you say he’s off to university soon?”

“Yeah, he is,” Phil replies. “But with everything that’s been going on recently I think he’s just taking it one day at a time. And I’m not slacking off, I promise.” He almost chokes at the idea of slacking off from his Guardianship; rather, he’s been working unerringly close. PJ casts him an unconvinced look, lips pursed.

“You should take it easy, too,” PJ sighs. He pats Phil’s knee gently before standing, brushing dirt from the bench off of his jeans as he does so. He cranes his neck behind him to acknowledge Phil, who’s still sat down, unmoving. PJ tilts his head. “Do you need me to walk you back to your apartment? You still look kind of—“

“—I’m fine, honestly,” Phil interjects, jumping at the sudden opportunity of separation. Though conversing with PJ is both comforting and entertaining, such a conversation isn’t a rarity. Phil rubs his left arm subtly; there are more pressing matters to attend to. “I mean, your human probably needs you more than I do right now. I’m sure he’s left all kinds of messes for you to clean up.”

The way his voice wavers with seemingly unfounded haste is enough to alert PJ to suspicious happenings. His brow creases with a frown at Phil’s abrupt restlessness, and he turns slowly to face Phil once more.

“He’s at work at the moment, so I’m good for an hour or so. Are you sure everything’s all right?” PJ tries again, taking a step closer. Phil flinches and pulls his arm closer to himself, and any hint of a smile is immediately eradicated from PJ’s face.

“Phil,” PJ warns, folding his arms. Phil smiles weakly, but he’s only met with narrowed eyes. “Phil, are you hiding something?”

“No, I’m—“ is all Phil manages to say before PJ lurches forward, grasping Phil’s arm faster than either of them can comprehend. There’s a brief moment of struggle where Phil yelps and tries to pull away, but PJ has always been stronger and smarter and far more determined. He wrenches Phil’s arms apart with force and freezes in place when Phil’s left forearm is in plain sight.

PJ’s grip softens in an instant, and Phil lets his arms drop, the fight draining from his body. He sighs hopelessly and allows himself to be stared at, allows the sight of his incriminating mark to be soaked into his best friend’s brain.

After many uninterrupted seconds of heavy silence, PJ offers him nothing but five words: “Louise had one of those.”

Phil grimaces. “I know.”

“She got it when her human was in his coma. When she didn’t come home for months at a time.”

“I _know_.”

“And before too long—after all that fighting, she—“

“I _know_ , PJ!” Phil shouts, standing abruptly. PJ’s eyes widen as he’s interrupted, the only sound between them being Phil’s staggered breathing. PJ wrings his hands together, guilty, and Phil feels his heart drop despite his verbal eruption.

Phil swallows and tries again. “I know, PJ,” he whispers, his throat dry from his sudden outburst. He lets his eyes flutter closed in an attempt to calm himself, and when he reopens them is met with PJ’s emotionless visage.

Unlike Phil, PJ is a master at controlling his emotions. When he speaks again, his voice is monotonous. “So you went back again,” PJ states rather than asks.

Phil nods. PJ sighs and raises a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “How many times?”

“Twice, now,” Phil admits, wincing at the fact now he’s said it out loud. Two trips, two betrayals. He lifts a finger to his mark and traces it, back and forth, before mumbling, “It wasn’t there before. When Dan got out of the hospital, I mean. It definitely wasn’t there yesterday, so it must have shown up today.”

“And you didn’t notice?” PJ questions, the softness seeping slowly back into his voice. He lowers himself down to sit hesitantly back on the bench where Phil rests.

Phil stares down at his lap and shrugs. “No, it wasn’t even me who noticed in the end. Dan’s Mum—“

“Dan’s _Mum_?”

“I know, I know,” Phil whines, biting his lip. It’s unclear to him whether PJ’s wide eyes and gaping mouth are results of shock or disappointment. “She was the one who noticed it. I didn’t know how to process it at the time so I just—I just ignored it, I guess.”

PJ groans loudly and shuffles backwards until his back is pressed right against the bench. He allows himself to slump against the wood and squeeze his eyes shut, evidently exhausted from the overload of information he’s been given. Phil looks on in silence as he waits for some form of the wisdom or security that PJ has never failed to provide him in the past. Such comfort doesn’t come, though, and Phil plays with his fingers anxiously at the volumes PJ’s silence speaks.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” PJ says after a moment, motionless. Phil nods until he realises PJ’s eyes are still closed.

“Yeah,” Phil almost whispers, his voice shaking with a hint of fear. The sound makes PJ open his eyes slowly before he sits up straight to meet Phil’s uncertain gaze head on. He leans forward and takes Phil’s left arm in his hand, twisting it left and right to view it at every angle, and eventually places it gently back onto Phil’s lap.

PJ leans backwards and folds his arms firmly. “I’m not going to tell you not to go back, because I know you will.”

Phil’s winces. “I’m really sorry, PJ. I seriously didn’t—“

“No, listen,” PJ sighs, cutting him off. Phil mirrors his position with folded arms, both apologetic and defensive, and lets him speak. “It doesn’t matter what I say, so I won’t warn you anymore. But if you insist on going—if you really, truly feel like you have to go—then at the very least promise me something.”

Phil’s expression shifts, now incredibly alert at the promise of a compromise. Visiting Dan is dangerous, but it’s too late for Phil to forget; it’s too late to erase the feeling of joy when they talk, too late to forget the increased beating of his heart. So Phil listens closely.

“Anything,” Phil states confidently. “And I mean it this time.”

PJ laughs softly, and it’s comforting to Phil to know that his friend finds humour in Phil’s track record of broken promises. He collects himself after a moment and acknowledges Phil with a determined stare.

“First of all, you keep an eye on this,” PJ says, gesturing towards Phil’s mark. “Louise had hers for a long time before things got worse, and right now yours is faint enough that you barely noticed it. That’s a good sign.”

Phil nods readily and awaits further instruction with military obedience.

“And if you do that,” PJ starts, before stopping himself in thought. He seems to deliberate for several seconds, his brow furrowed in some internal battle, and eventually he sighs in defeat. He looks down at his hands before mumbling reluctantly, “Then I suppose you can visit Dan once a week.”

All the words that Phil can possibly imagine don’t even come close to forming the sentences he wants to say, so he throws himself forward with violent enthusiasm to embrace PJ instead. PJ stops him before they can collide, grasping Phil’s shoulders tightly to look him straight in the eyes. “And _only_ once a week,” he reiterates sternly, before yelping with surprise when Phil pulls him in for a bone-crushing hug.

“Once a week, I promise,” Phil breathes, squeezing tighter. PJ chuckles affectionately, lifting his arms to rub Phil’s back supportively. “Thank you so much, PJ. Thank you so much for understanding.”

“Don’t mention it,” PJ wheezes as he leans away slowly. Phil’s arms drop back into his lap easily, and he relaxes. It’s not that PJ holds any authority over Phil, not really, but Phil can’t think of a good reason to let his best friend down any more than he already has. If there’s a way to keep both his best friend and his human in his life, then neither Hell nor high water can stop him—years of butting heads with the Elders have proved as much.

PJ’s hesitant expression shows that he’s less enthusiastic. He folds his arms when Phil finally lets go of them and purses his lips, still worried. His concerns remain unvoiced, however, as he shakes off his nerves with a gentle smile at Phil’s newfound excitement.

“I’m going to get some rest now,” PJ explains as he stands up once more, tilting his head to one side to indicate that Phil should follow. “God knows I need it. And so do you, by the looks of it.”

Phil pushes himself off the bench and stands to face PJ. He has to tilt his head up slightly, because PJ has always been bigger than him. “Absolutely,” Phil agrees, raising a hand to his face to stifle a yawn.

PJ snorts at the sight and shoves him gently. “I’ll see you soon. And when I get back,” he says as he walks a few paces away, preparing himself for travelling,“I want to know _everything_.”

Phil doesn’t even try to hide the grin that breaks out over his face, and he provides PJ with an excited thumbs up. “I’ll tell you every single detail,” he promises, to which PJ provides his own thumbs up.

PJ leaves him with gentle parting words. “See you around, Phil.”

“Yes you will,” Phil says to himself, running a hand through his hair with exhaustion as he watches PJ vanish before him. He would definitely be seeing more of PJ and less of Dan from now on, like things had always been. The idea of life returning to normal after experiencing the past two days with Dan is disappointing, but the dangers of human society on his non-human body are less appealing than the alternative. Phil’s in no position to complain when he’s seeing his human once a week; if anything, it’s something to be celebrated that Phil can even visit Dan at all.

Maybe time away from Dan would make him stronger. Maybe, in the time it takes for his body to heal, time away from Dan would feel as normal as it did before. And maybe, Phil thinks quietly as he makes the long journey back to his apartment, hands deep in his pockets and gaze locked firmly on the ground, _maybe_ any nagging feelings that may have arisen in just two days would disappear as quickly as they came.

 _Maybe_ , Phil hopes.


	6. Chapter 6

If PJ’s expression can be summed up in a single word, it can only be “ _irritated_.”

“You’re doing it wrong. Give it here,” PJ grumbles for the fifth time, the agitation in his voice unfitting for someone such as himself. Phil winces as PJ yanks the scissors from his grasp, and with it the piece of paper held loosely in Phil’s hands.

Phil folds his arms when they’re taken from him, groaning childishly. Phil’s clumsiness is not a desirable trait at the best of times, but it’s even less so in the face of art. “I can’t cut in straight lines,” he whines, frowning when PJ casts him a judgemental look from where they sit cross-legged on PJ’s kitchen floor. Phil stretches his legs out in front of him to ease the tension in his muscles, but he pulls back a little when his foot brushes against the pile of art supplies littered across the tiles. A small tube of acrylic paint topples over from the collision; it rolls across the floor and disappears beneath a cupboard, now entirely unreachable.

PJ looks up from what he’s doing and glares. Phil pouts in wordless apology.

Though an arts and crafts session has never been on Phil’s agenda, upon entering Phil’s apartment the day prior, PJ had insisted that the only way to lift Phil’s mood was a little creativity. It’s difficult for Phil to argue with him when PJ is living proof of this theory in action; kind, cheery, and humorous, with every wall painted and every item of clothing personally modified.

PJ sighs as he cuts the last section of paper before placing the scissors gently on the floor. He takes either end of the paper and pulls, revealing a long chain of paper dolls, each one with an individual design pencilled carefully within the lines.

“See?” PJ asks, leaning forward slightly to look for himself. Phil nods, impressed, and reaches forward to take the chain from PJ. “Now we just have to paint them.”

Phil lets his eyes scan the dolls carefully, observing every tiny detail drawn in. The small circles and jagged lines feel intimidating, and demanding of the carefulness that Phil simply lacks. Phil’s expression twists from the pressure of it. “Can’t you do it for me?”

PJ rolls his eyes and moves one of his legs to kick at Phil’s feet in annoyance. “No,” he says, crossing his legs once again before reaching behind him to fumble for some paintbrushes. “That’s not the point of it. You’re supposed to be channelling your stress through art.”

Reluctantly, Phil reaches forward to take a paintbrush from PJ’s hand. “It’s hard to not be stressed when you keep critiquing my art style,” Phil snorts, and grabs a few bottles of paint to start with. He meets PJ’s eyes at the sound of him tutting in response, only to find PJ fighting back a small smile.

“I don’t know if it’s so much of an ‘art style’ as it is ‘completely disregarding the existence of straight lines,’” PJ teases. Phil sticks his tongue out with fake annoyance before crossing his legs once more. Once he’s comfortable, Phil shrugs and opens his palm to allow PJ to hand him the paper dolls.

“Painting within the lines is hard, though,” Phil sighs, his eyes flicking back and forth between the paper and the paint. His hand lingers over the colours before settling on a deep blue, which he grasps in his free hand before popping the cap open with his thumb.

PJ nods in silent agreement, a grin gracing his already pleased expression. He laughs quietly to himself, watching as Phil squeezes the bottle’s contents onto  a plain piece of paper. “You’re not wrong,” PJ smiles, picking up some paint for himself and squirting it onto his own piece of paper. “But sometimes the easy option isn’t always the best one. You have to put the effort in occasionally.”

Phil’s gaze flickers up from his paper just as he dips his brush into the paint, staining it royal blue. He’s unsurprised to see that PJ is already looking directly at him, eyebrows raised with implication.

Phil smiles, shaking his head. “Are we still talking about the paint, Peej?”

“I don’t know,” PJ grins in response; his words and his expression tell different stories. “What are _you_ talking about?”

Phil rolls his eyes, laughing, and breaks the eye contact for fear of PJ looking too deep into his mind. He looks back down at his brush and hovers it carefully over the paper dolls, squinting a little to ensure that the brush is directly over the outlines. “All right, then. Going outside the lines is more _fun_.”

Though he can’t see PJ’s expression, he hears the smile in his voice. “Now that I can agree with.”

The fact that PJ can analyse and understand Phil with very little guidance should be astonishing, but there’s not much that PJ can surprise him with anymore after centuries of companionship.

PJ’s empathic nature is even less shocking when paired with the fact that Phil has been sulking since the moment he’d awoken; visiting Dan only once a week, while a fair compromise, has made the task of Phil approaching his watchpost a difficult one. The idea of seeing Dan whilst the two of them are worlds apart with no way of communication is frustrating to say the least.

As Phil paints quietly, biting his lips from the concentration such a task demands, he catches sight of the incriminating mark gracing his left arm. There’s no pain anymore, but the impulse to make it disappear is suffocating, as if painting over it would make the situation feel less real. He resists the urge to rub it while inwardly he scolding himself for his carelessness.

The sound of PJ sighing brings Phil back to reality. Phil’s head whips up to meet PJ’s eyes once again, and he can’t help but notice that PJ hasn’t been painting at all.

“Okay, enough of this,” PJ mutters, leaning back against a kitchen cupboard. He rests his paintbrush down onto the floor before folding his arms decisively. “Would you feel better if we talked about it? Properly this time?”

Phil swallows and shrugs, laying his own paintbrush down on the paper he’s been using to mix colours with, and places his hands awkwardly into his lap.

“Not really,” Phil admits quietly, frowning. “I mean, there’s not much to talk about, is there? It’s like you said. I can’t keep babying him.”

“No, but you can’t keep being a baby about it either.”

“I’m not being a baby about it.” Phil sighs, running a hand through his hair. To have any kind of conflict with PJ is unsettling, but even more so when the dispute is nothing more than childish bickering. But to discuss the matter maturely would be to be truthful about his feelings, and Phil is unsure if he’s ready for such a conversation just yet.

The silence between them is somehow deafening. Phil moves his arm to pick up his paintbrush once more, but PJ grasps his arm swiftly, holding it firmly in place. He turns Phil’s arm so his mark shows.

“Look at it,” PJ says, his tone soft. His grip relaxes as he lets his arm drop down, leaving Phil’s own arm lingering in the air, unsupported. “I’m not trying to be overbearing, Phil. You need to understand why we’re here right now.”

Internally, Phil scolds himself for spoiling the mood with his incessant sulking. Spending time alone with PJ without either of them distracted by their Guardianship is a rarity; to brood unnecessarily is selfish. Phil chews the inside of his cheek nervously and takes several breaths to avoid saying something unreasonable.

“I thought we were here so I could forget about Dan for a while.”

“No, Phil,” PJ states sternly, unimpressed. Phil winces at his tone. “You need to understand why we’re _here_ right now, in my apartment.”

Though he’s certain that PJ would never be intentionally cryptic, no amount of thought or determination is enough for Phil to understand PJ’s train of thought. Phil shrugs weakly, gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

Phil hears the click of PJ’s tongue and the sound of fabric rustling as PJ leans forward to speak, his voice lowered. “We’re here because Earth is not a good place for you. You weren’t made for Earth, Phil—your body can’t handle it. That’s why we live here, not there.”

“I know, Peej,” Phil admits, downcast. He plays with the hem of his shirt timidly, like a child, too afraid to lift his head for fear of PJ looking back at him. “I mean, you’re right. I got myself into this mess, so—you’re right.”

The sound of Phil’s voice is pathetic to his own ears, small and wavering, so he chooses to drown the noise out with the crunching of papers as he picks up the paper dolls he’s been painting. Phil pulls either end to reveal the dolls one by one, holding them above his head to see more clearly; the bright colours of PJ’s apartment walls are the perfect backdrop for highlighting every painted detail. Both Phil and PJ remain silent as Phil admires his work—though PJ had formed the outlines, Phil had filled in the blanks with no external help other than PJ’s encouragement from the side-lines—until the sound of PJ exhaling loudly fills the silence, waking Phil from his stupor.

“Hey,” PJ breathes. Phil lowers his arms to reveal PJ’s face, now smiling gently. The corners of his eyes crease slightly, friendly and inviting. PJ reaches over to tap Phil’s knee encouragingly, to which Phil offers his own small smile at in response.

“Just look on the bright side,” PJ tries when Phil remains silent, too guilty and afraid to worsen the situation with his tactless words. “Tomorrow is another day, and the day after that is another week.”

There’s a moment of quiet where Phil doesn’t catch on to the implications, head tilted and expression twisted with confusion. The penny drops when he sees PJ point downwards. He’s pointing at the kitchen tiles but it means something deeper, something much further down that just _down_ , and Phil grins with both excitement and appreciation for his friend’s unlimited support.

“Yeah,” Phil whispers and resists the urge to bury his face in his hands to hide his smile. His eyes catch sight of the paper dolls resting on the floor in front of him, and his gaze hones in on the doll with the dark brown hair and black t-shirt directly in the centre of the chain. “Yeah, it’s a brand new week.” 

* * *

In retrospect, it had been immature of Phil to believe that a few days break from his human would be taxing. The reality of the situation is that days away from Earth had been easy—relaxing, even—when spent reconnecting with his best friend. When the beginning of the new week comes, it’s a couple of days into the week before Phil even realises that a visit to Earth is available to him, and another day until the urge to go back finally returns to him.

Phil _almost_ forgets about the increased beating of his heart he experiences when eye to eye with Dan, and _almost_ forgets about how he wouldn’t mind taking Dan’s hand in his own once more.

At least, until the day comes.

The middle of the week comes around—Wednesday, Phil remembers, when using the human method of timekeeping—and Phil makes the decision to return, to surprise Dan while he sits alone in his home, restless. There’s nobody else in Dan’s house this time, a fact that Phil makes sure to account for now Dan’s family are aware of his existence; to be acknowledged by them is fine, but to get close to them is undoubtedly dangerous territory.

Phil travels directly to Dan’s driveway rather than to his bedroom to enhance the surprise, but something about the large house towering over him evokes fear in Phil’s gut, forcing him to swallow his nerves. To stand outside Dan’s house, his hand hovering over the doorbell as if he’s a typical visitor, is laughable. Phil isn’t a normal person; he’s unnatural, an anachronism that has somehow wandered into Dan’s everyday life. Yet to an outsider walking by in the crisp autumn air, Phil is just another human.

_How terrifying_ , Phil thinks, shuffling on his feet.

After several moments of standing motionless on Dan’s doorstep, Phil exhales shakily and presses the doorbell. He jumps at the sound of a dog barking on the other side of the door, increasing in volume as footsteps follow closely behind. Phil wrings his hands together nervously when Dan’s voice echoes in the hallway, the words “ _Be quiet, Bangy, would you stop—go on, in the kitchen_ ” muffled, but undoubtedly belonging to his human. The sound of the keys turning in the lock is enough to provoke a heart attack within Phil’s chest.

Before the desire to turn around and scurry away can be fulfilled, the door swings open, and behind it Phil is met with the wide-eyed stare of Dan Howell.

“Hi,” Phil breathes before Dan can speak. Dan’s mouth opens and closes with confusion, words escaping him as Phil stands quietly in the cold. Phil raises his arms in what appears to be an offer of a hug, but ultimately resorts to passing it off as a shrug instead when he’s not immediately met with Dan’s body colliding with his own.

Dan blinks, the movement waking him from his trance. He awkwardly shuffles forward to close some of the distance between them before tilting his head, as if deciding whether the Phil in front of him is actually real.

Eventually, he smiles and laughs inelegantly. “Phil,” Dan says quietly, his voice laced with shock. He steps outside to join Phil, closing the door behind him to keep out the cold. “I mean, hi. Where have you been?”

“It’s a long story. Well, not really,” Phil responds, chewing his lip nervously. The sudden awkwardness between them feels like defeat. It’s only been a week since Dan’s claim of friendship, and already Phil feels as though he’s ruined it somehow. “But it’s kind of complicated. Is it okay if I come inside?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dan replies quickly, glancing down at the keys held loosely in his hands. He spins on his heel and opens the door, gesturing for Phil to follow. Phil kicks off his shoes as soon as he’s inside, the warmth of the hallway soothing his cold skin—colder than usual, he notes, but he ignores the thought as quickly as it arrives for fear of what it might mean.

He follows Dan into the living room and watches as he slumps lazily onto the leather sofa, placing his feet firmly on the coffee table in the centre. Dan looks pointedly away from him, and internally Phil feels his stomach drop. After days of building trust with Dan, it appears as though it had all been for naught.

“You can sit down,” Dan says, gesturing towards the seats surrounding him, never meeting Phil’s eye. Phil scans the area for an ideal place to sit; Dan’s living room has one long sofa and a recliner placed tactfully in a semi-circle, and Dan currently resides as close to the TV as possible. _And far away from me,_ Phil muses, walking hesitantly towards the sofa to sit down. He leaves an appropriate amount of space between Dan and himself, and the silence continues.

“So,” Dan starts as he pulls his sleeves down to cover his hands, his thumbs hooked inside them to keep them in place. “You kind of just disappeared on me last week. What happened?”

“I’m really sorry,” Phil stammers, running a hand through his hair. He stares down into his lap and sighs, before gathering the confidence to look properly at Dan only a metre away from him. “I wanted to tell you, but things got a bit tricky. It’s hard to explain.”

Dan’s gaze flickers quickly towards Phil, then immediately back to the coffee table when he realises Phil is looking back at him. He leans his chin against his hand, and his words become muffled by the fabric of his jumper against the corner of his mouth. “You really freaked me out.”

The words are like a punch straight to Phil’s gut. “How do you mean?” Phil asks gently, and makes extra effort to disguise the hurt in his voice.

Dan rolls his eyes and scoffs. Phil flinches a little at his change in attitude. “A guy who claims to be my Guardian angel shows up in my room one day, then only a week later disappears without a trace. I thought I was going _mad_ , Phil.”

The way Phil grimaces in place of words is enough to be taken as an admission of guilt. Phil’s perfectly willing to accept these charges when he can’t think of a rebuttal; when Phil had finally mustered the strength to return to his watchpost, it had been almost torturous to watch Dan pacing his room in confusion, rummaging through the bottom of his bag for two cinema tickets and two pairs of 3D glasses for proof of Phil’s existence.

“I saw,” Phil admits quietly, picking at his nails to keep his hands busy. To see Dan panicked and concerned had been upsetting, but not enough for Phil to compromise his own health. “Trust me, I really did intend to come back. But this—“

Phil raises his left arm and points directly at the red mark stretched across his forearm, unmissable. Dan’s eyes widen slightly at the sight, but he remains silent, allowing for Phil to continue.

“—Well, this turned out to be more trouble than I expected.”

He watches nervously as Dan chews on his lip even harder. Phil catches sight of the dryness of Dan’s lips and the indents where his teeth had been before.

“What kind of trouble?” Dan probes after a moment, his voice wavering slightly.

Phil takes a moment to stare at his mark, transfixed. Dan is clearly still shaken from the experience; Phil has never in his life felt delusional, but the way Dan stutters and shakes is enough to satiate his curiosity.

Phil lowers his arm to hug himself as Dan watches closely, still silent. Phil shakes his head.

“Can we talk about it later?” Phil finally asks, forcing a smile. “Sorry, just—I kind of wanted to surprise you and I guess this isn’t really working out how I planned.”

Dan’s face remains neutral for a brief second before he mirrors Phil’s expression, a small smile gracing his lips. “Don’t worry, you definitely surprised me,” Dan laughs a little behind his hand, and meets Phil’s eyes properly. Despite the lack of sunlight in the room, his eyes shine a little, as they always do. “Yeah, all right, I don’t mind. Honestly, it’s been really boring with you gone.”

“It’s been boring for me, too,” Phil agrees, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. His arm stops in mid-air when he remembers PJ, and almost instantly Phil breaks out into a small laugh. It would be impossible to claim that PJ is anything close to _boring_. “Actually, I spent a lot of time with my friend PJ, which was pretty nice.”

With eyebrows raised, Dan tilts his head a little before snorting. He folds his arms with pretend jealously, and momentarily Phil questions whether if it’s as fake as it seems.

“So you have other friends now?” Dan teases. “Oh, I see how it is.”

Phil smirks, amused. Regardless of Dan’s intent, the comment is an ego boost. “That’s not fair. I was basically your imaginary friend for _years_. If anyone should feel sorry for themselves, it’s me.”

Dan rolls his eyes and snickers. “It sounds way creepier when you put it like that,” he says jokingly, before removing his feet from the table to plant them firmly on the carpet. Dan leans over to the coffee table to pick up his phone and punches in the passcode. Phil waits in silence, playing with his hands. At the very least, the air had been cleared. Anything Dan could possibly say to him now would be welcomed with open arms.

“So, in the event that you suddenly disappear again and I need proof that you _aren’t_ just something from my imagination, I think we should take a picture,” Dan announces, interrupting the quiet. Phil opens his mouth to speak before promptly closing it again, allowing himself to process the words. His heartbeat drastically increases at the thought of his encounter with Dan being immortalised in photo form, the idea of remaining in Dan’s memory for as long as a picture existed.

When Phil doesn’t reply immediately, Dan huffs, shuffling closer to him so that there’s little more than an inch of space between them. The ability to speak is completely robbed from him, and Phil flails a little, unsure of where to place his hands. Dan doesn’t catch a second of it; he’s too busy scrolling, looking through filters.

“Sure,” Phil croaks after a second, placing his hands stiffly onto his lap. He takes a deep breath to calm his anxiety, and he grins, turning his head to face Dan properly. It’s surely something that the Elders will have an issue with, but Phil can’t find it within himself to care that much. “It’ll be like when we first met. Except I promise I won’t delete it this time.”

“You won’t, but I might,” Dan replies, coughing a little. Phil laughs in response; Dan’s phone contains an entire library of unwanted selfies that never saw the light of day. “Okay, get closer to me.”

Phil leans in another inch so they’re directly side by side and smiles widely, the phone raised high above their heads at Dan’s favourite angle. He stares directly into the lens until he catches sight of Dan scowling on the screen, and their eyes meet through the camera.

“What?” Phil asks, confused. Dan rolls his eyes, and moves closer.

“You’re not even in shot,” Dan groans as he shifts. He leans in even further, far too close to Phil’s lap for comfort, until both their heads and thighs are touching. Dan nods with satisfaction and smiles, signalling for Phil to copy him. It’s easily done, especially when Dan slings an arm around him to secure them both in place, and Phil’s heartbeat speeds up threefold from the way Dan’s fingers cling tightly to his shoulder.

After taking several photos Dan lowers the phone to chest-level, flicking with impressive speed through the results. Even with above-human ability Phil finds it hard to keep up with Dan’s movements, although the fact that there’s no longer a single centimetre of space between the two of them doesn’t help either. Dan mumbles to himself as he looks, small mutterings of ‘ _no, no—definitely not’_ spilling from his lips as if Phil isn’t even there.

Phil, on the other hand, is hyper aware of their position. But the position is too comfortable to move away, and Phil can’t think of a single place he’d rather be.

“What about this one?” Dan questions eventually. His voice breaks Phil out of his stupor as he blinks himself awake, allowing his eyes to focus on the screen as Dan holds his phone up in front of them. His vision goes straight to Dan in the photo, his hair immaculate and his face well-angled to disguise any spots or dark circles that are visible in person. His well-practiced smile strikes discomfort in Phil’s gut, because there’s no dimple in his cheek or small creases in the corner of Dan’s eyes to imply that the smile is anything but forced.

Though he’s unsure as to whether the lack of honesty in Dan’s expression is to do with Dan’s insecurities or something deeper, nothing can stop Phil from saying the first thing that comes to mind whilst looking at the photo.

“You look really good,” Phil stutters a little, his gaze moving up from the phone to look at Dan. Dan’s lips skew slightly as if trying to subdue a smile as he breaks the eye contact almost immediately, his cheeks gradually turning a deep scarlet colour at the compliment. His mouth opens and closes periodically in an attempt to form a sentence, but it’s in vain. Dan clamps his mouth shut and laughs instead.

“Thanks,” he splutters, a wry smile still gracing his expression subtly. Phil attempts to hide his own grin. Very rarely did Dan become too flustered to speak. “I meant, like—do you think _you_ look okay in it?”

Phil’s face drops a little as he blinks. Admittedly, it hadn’t crossed his mind to look at himself.

“I don’t really care,” Phil says honestly, shrugging. “I mean, you took the photo for you, didn’t you? So it doesn’t really matter what I look like in it.”

The frown on Dan’s face and his lack of response make it appear as though such a concept is foreign to him. It comes as no surprise to Phil, who’s had years to understand that Dan found a new superficial flaw on himself almost every day since secondary school, but it doesn’t make the thought any sadder.

Dan purses his lips together in thought and looks back at his phone, silent. “Well, for what it’s worth,” he says after a moment, locking his phone and placing it deep into his pockets. “I think you look great.”

He looks pointedly away from Phil as he speaks, which is ultimately a blessing when Phil has to stop himself from grinning at the compliment. He makes the decision not to inform Dan of what his opinion is worth to him. It’s the fact that the comment is unprompted that makes the feeling of elation it brings even stronger.

“Come on, then,” Dan almost shouts as he stands up suddenly, not allowing Phil to even think of a reply. Phil jumps a little at the sound but remains motionless, staring up at Dan’s back towering above him. Dan twists his body to look at Phil, his eyebrows raised, yet Phil remains seated. Dan reacts to his stillness as if it’s a challenge and leans down to grasp Phil’s wrist in an attempt to gently tug him to his feet.

Phil giggles softly to himself when he doesn’t move an inch, and Dan grunts in frustration, lifting one leg onto the sofa to push against and to allow himself more stability. It seems as though what Phil lacks in height compared to Dan is made up for in strength. Though he knows he shouldn’t tease Dan for what he lacks, the sight is oddly both humorous and endearing.

Finally, Dan huffs and gives in, folding his arms with a small whine. Phil grins triumphantly and rises to his feet, rotating his wrist slightly as he does so.

“Are we going somewhere?” Phil asks, still smiling. Dan shoves him playfully and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, out,” Dan replies, heading towards the hallway door and gesturing for Phil to follow. Phil closes the living room door behind them quietly, and waits for Dan to elaborate.

Dan walks to the end of the hallway and grabs two coats from the pegs by the front door, throwing one in Phil’s direction. He catches it easily with one hand and wordlessly puts his arms through the sleeves, watching as Dan does the same.

“Okay,” Phil says when Dan doesn’t offer an explanation, “Where are we going?”

He zips his coat up all the way, though Dan lets his hang open carelessly whilst he leans down to lace up his shoes. Dan’s keys jingle in his hand as he sifts through them to find his house key, before placing the it into the lock and turning it.

The sound of the door unlocking follows, and Dan finally speaks up. “The park, I guess,” he replies offhandedly, shrugging with one shoulder. Phil rolls his eyes at the vagueness, though he’s not against the concept of being surprised. “It’s usually completely dead in the middle of the day since all the kids are at school. We can just hang out.”

As Phil steps back to allow them both some room, Dan pulls open the door with ease. The two of them clamber through the entranceway, pausing only for Dan to lock the door behind them. Phil uses the moment of quiet to listen intently to the birds chirping in the tree across the street, the sound indulging all of his senses when paired with the sudden rush of wind that disturbs the greenery. This goes unnoticed by Dan, who walks silently with hands deep in his pockets to the front gate, holding it open for Phil to walk through.

Phil takes a few steps towards him when his face is hit with something foreign: it’s wet, cold, and runs like a tear from his cheek to his jaw like liquid. He freezes in place and raises a hand to his cheek in confusion, wiping at it and staring down at his palm to investigate. The feeling isn’t dissimilar to blood, but Phil’s palm remains clean and dry rather than sullied with crimson—he blinks wordlessly in a trance whilst Dan stands blasé only a few feet away from him, unmoved by the sudden sensations that Phil’s sure he must be feeling too.

The urge to question the events almost overcomes him, but Dan saves him the trouble. Dan looks up into the sky, cloudy and grey, and mutters quietly to himself.

“Oh, shit, it’s raining.”

Phil lifts his head to stare at Dan as he processes the words, one palm still outstretched. He’s seen the rain before—plenty of times, in fact, and has occasionally caused thunderstorms himself with the use of his abilities—but it’s Phil’s first time feeling the rain on his skin, his first time experiencing the sensation of the wetness dripping on to his hair. It’s freezing to the touch and hitting him with inconsistent splatters, but it’s far from unpleasant. Phil watches as the rain increases in speed, some droplets landing directly onto Dan’s face, which scowls at the combination of wind and rain.

Slowly, Phil turns both palms upward to face the sky, catching the drips in his hands. “Rain?” he asks quietly, looking aloft at the clouds. His voice is dreamy and small, a direct result of the sound of water hitting the pavement rapidly soothing his mind.

Dan continues to frown as the rain catches in his hair, the ends already beginning to curl from the wetness. He sighs, then tilts his head to acknowledge Phil dejectedly.

“I didn’t know it was going to rain. I guess we’ll just go another day.”

Though Phil can hear Dan talking, he’s still trapped in a dream state, mesmerised by the sensory overload. “It’s so cold,” Phil mumbles, looking back at his hands as the water splashes onto them with each passing second. His hair stands on end from the chill, and for the first time in his life, Phil can feel goose bumps forming on the surface of his skin.

From the corner of his eye he sees Dan nod before spinning on his heel to take shelter under the doorstep. “Yeah,” Dan admits, his tone of voice implying that his previous comment had been a complaint. “Let’s go back inside.”

From behind him, Phil hears the sound of keys in the lock, followed by the sound of Dan pushing the door open. Phil remains motionless, however, even when he hears Dan shuffling impatiently on his feet only a few steps away. He observes how the droplets run across different surfaces, from cars to windows to the umbrellas that passer-by’s pull hurriedly out of their bags as they sprint to shelter. Though there’s plenty of things on Earth that Phil has never experienced, and plenty more than he never will, it’s difficult for him to imagine that anything could captivate him more than this.

Phil’s mouth hangs open just slightly in fascination before he mutters two quiet words. “Not yet.”

Behind him, Dan pauses, before shutting the door gently to tentatively approach Phil’s side. Phil allows himself to glance at Dan, now drenched from head to toe in less than a minute of waiting. The sight of Dan’s soaked face and hair bring back memories of the accident that Phil tries to push down; there’s no need to be reminded when there’s no blood staining Dan’s visage, no shortness of breath as Dan tries desperately to hold on. When Dan had lain motionless on the streets of Wokingham, clinging on to life whilst being pelted by the rain, perhaps the pouring weather had helped rather than hurt.

Dan unzips his coat and lays it on the ground beneath them. He lowers himself to sit cross-legged on the waterproof material and folds his arms, staring glassy-eyed at the houses across from them.

“You are such a weird person,” Dan laughs, wrapping his arms around his torso to stop himself from shivering. Phil looks down at Dan, but he doesn’t move and waits patiently for Dan to speak again.

Dan sighs and looks up at him, the rain sliding effortlessly from his forehead to his chin. When their eyes meet, Dan hugs himself tighter before looking away with a small grin. “It’s a good thing I like weird.”

* * *

The concept of relaxing in the rain with a loved one is, on the surface, romantic. Phil struggles to agree when the reality had left him cold, soaked, and slightly unwell after only thirty minutes of the downpour.

It’s only when Dan tugs Phil inside to the shelter of his bedroom that Phil understands the advantages of such displeasures: the relief that comes with a hot drink, a soft towel, and another hour long gaming session with his human _almost_ outweighs the serene and tranquil feelings that experiencing rainfall had brought. Still, there’s little for him to complain about when he’s elbow to elbow with Dan on the edge of Dan’s bed—“Just to keep warm,” Dan had stammered with a barely noticeable blush when Phil had raised a questioning brow at the suggestion. And the warmth that their idle chatter brings is simply a bonus.

Yet the nagging reminder that Phil has to leave can only be ignored for so long. Phil has dismissed the thought several times already by the time mid-afternoon comes around, and his common sense demands that he takes his own advice before it’s no longer an option to do so. When their final _Halo_ match ends, Dan once again caught up in the excitement of his own victories, Phil sighs and reluctantly places his controller beside him.

Dan catches the motion with a confused frown. “What’s up?” Dan asks, and Phil bites his lip as if to prevent the words from escaping.

“I have to go now,” Phil admits reluctantly. Dan pouts a little, but remains quiet, placing his own controller on the floor below them. He nods in understanding and pushes himself to his feet, which encourages Phil to do the same.

With a heavy exhale, Phil takes a few steps forward and readies himself to travel. Internally, he’s thinking of all the best ways to say good-bye, because a week away from Dan now that he’s visited once more is far too long for him to be happy with. He’s grateful, however, for the chance to be around Dan for even a few hours at a time. To complain about such a blessing would be blasphemous.

Before Phil can turn away, he feels Dan grasp his sleeve and tug. Phil looks immediately over his shoulder and holds his breath involuntarily; even with the advantage of height, Dan still manages to look small in the moment.

“Can I ask you something?” Dan questions, timid.

Phil feels his eyes physically widen, and feels his heartbeat triple in speed at the sudden movement, but he collects himself fast enough to clear his throat and reply.

“Sure,” he responds with some effort. “What’s up?”

After a moment of deliberation, Dan bites his lip and drops his gaze to the ground. He’s still holding tightly on to Phil’s sleeve. “Why do you always have to leave?”

Several seconds of heavy silence pass them by, filled only by the blustering wind thrashing against the window pane.

“I just have to,” Phil replies eventually, though the answer sounds unsatisfying even to him. He resists the urge to take Dan's hand into his own and hold it still as a way of comforting him, just to make him stop making such a forlorn face. “Trust me, I’d love to stay here forever, but—well, it’s—“

Phil’s voice drops down low as if the knowledge is incriminating. “It’s dangerous. There are consequences.”

“You keep saying that,” Dan sighs, discontented. He releases his grip on Phil's sleeve and uses his free hand to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What do you mean exactly?”

There’s no immediate reply, because although he knows the answer, it still takes Phil a second to think about. “Sit down,” Phil says softly, perching back on Dan’s bed and patting the mattress beside him. Dan does the same and watches him curiously. “Sorry. I know I’ve been really vague with you. It’s just because, well…”

Phil trails off, and Dan raises an eyebrow. “Because?”

“Because I don’t really know _what_ to tell you,” Phil admits and shrugs. “Because when it comes to these ‘consequences’ I keep bringing up, your guess is as good as mine.”

The momentary silence is nothing short of uncomfortable. Dan purses his lips. After a short while he speaks up, arms folded. “Phil, I understand if you don’t want to spend every minute of your day with me. I’m not going to be offended if that’s what this is.”

“No, no, it’s not—“ Phil starts, before cutting himself off with a frustrated exhale. It’s difficult to explain things to Dan when he doesn’t fully understand them himself, especially when there’s nothing he’d like more than to tell Dan every detail. He clicks his tongue in thought and makes a decision. “Maybe this will help. Do we have time for a story, or will your parents be back soon?”

Dan shrugs with one shoulder. “We’ve got time.”

“Okay,” Phil says, and lets his eyes flutter shut, casting his mind back to a time long before Dan was even in his life. It’s not a time that feels particularly relevant to Phil anymore, not now that he has a human to attend to; but once upon a time his life was different, and conversing with angels had been common practice for a humanless Guardian such as himself.

“I used to know this girl–this other Guardian–called Louise. She was one of my closest friends and I spent pretty much most of my time with her. You’d have really liked her, I think. I know she’d have liked you.”

Phil halts for a moment to smile to himself. It’s undebatable that Louise would have fawned over Dan more so than Phil himself. Her caring nature had been her most valuable trait, and as a result had ended in various unlikely friendships—including with Phil. Her softness had not only been in her fair hair and gentle eyes; Louise’s heart had always been exceptionally kind.

When the pause is too long, Dan coughs a little, and Phil jolts himself awake. “Anyway,” he continues quietly, “She was a Guardian, like me, and her human was a secondary school Languages teacher. There wasn’t a moment when she wasn’t looking out for him, even when he was asleep.”

“And?” Dan prompts.

“You can guess,” Phil whispers. “He fell ill one day. _Really_ ill. She went down there to be closer to him—like I did with you—and then things just took a turn for the worse."

The sound of the hallway clock ticking downstairs acts as a harsh reminder of Phil’s time constraints. He swallows his nerves, determined to finish the story without succumbing to the emotions that threaten to reappear after years of lying dormant within him.

"He fell into a coma. She just couldn't bear to be away from him. Before we knew it, a whole year had gone by and she hadn't been back once."

Phil shakes his head, distraught. "She just disappeared. We tried to look, we really did, but we were all so caught up in our own business that we didn't even know where to start. Maybe if we'd have just—“

He’s cut off by his own throat tightening, restricting both his breathing and the ability to speak. Dan watches with glassy eyes as he listens closely, lips parted just so. "Well, there's no point getting mad about it now,” Phil finishes, “We all could have done things a lot better, but that's just how it happened in the end."

With his piece spoken, Phil exhales through his nose and stares motionless down at his lap. Dan plays with the hem of his jumper before asking the question that’s been on Phil’s mind since the day of his friend’s disappearance.

"What happened to her?"

Phil shrugs. To admit the truth is painful. "Nobody knows."

Beside him, Dan nods in gentle understanding. Phil looks back up to meet Dan’s eyes—he’s always been comforted by Dan’s existence in his times of need, long before Dan had even been aware that Phil existed—just as Dan reaches a hesitant hand over to him, his long fingers grasping Phil’s thin wrist easily and pulling his arm into Dan’s lap.

Dan traces a finger up and down the length of Phil’s mark soothingly. Phil looks on wordlessly, so transfixed by Dan’s movements that he nearly misses it when Dan speaks again.

“Is that what this is?”

Phil takes a quick breath and holds it. He hadn’t intended on explaining everything to Dan so soon, but Dan has always been insufferably smart. Phil nods in silent agreement.

The movements stop, and Dan flattens his palm against Phil’s mark as if he’s able to simply wipe it away. “I’m really sorry,” Dan says suddenly. Phil’s head whips up in confusion, but something in his throat stops him from speaking whilst Dan looks down at Phil’s pale wrist. “I’m sorry that all of this happened because of me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phil croaks, his voice almost inaudible. Dan looks up at him and smiles sadly, his eyes foggy and far away. “This isn’t your fault.”

Though his words and supposed to be comforting, it doesn’t stop the corner of Dan’s mouth from twitching downwards guiltily, nor does it relieve the tension in his brow forming frustrated lines on his forehead. The sight makes Phil’s heart wrench just enough to forget; he forgets his own troubles and thinks only of Dan, because even with his own heartache there’s nothing more important than making Dan smile again. He won’t allow any feelings of blame on Dan’s behalf when it’s Phil who’s damned himself with his own weakness, whose stubbornness and lies have caused his own misery.

Phil stands up and turns to face Dan, who sits frozen on his bed. Phil opens his arms and smiles widely.

“Come here,” Phil demands, whilst Dan stares up at him, frowning. Dan hesitantly rises to his feet and takes a step forward before Phil pulls him into an embrace, squeezing a little too tightly for comfort.

“What are you doing?” Dan laughs, his own arms raised awkwardly in the air as if he’s surrendering.

“I’m _hugging_ you,” Phil says mockingly, softening his grip slightly to avoid completely crushing Dan in his arms. Dan loops his arms around Phil’s waist in turn, and buries his face in the crook of Phil’s neck, relaxed. Phil swallows thickly. The chances of his decision backfiring had been slim, but even the smallest possibility of Dan violently rejecting his attempts at soothing had been enough to strike dread in Phil’s gut. The fact that Dan remains comfortable and willing in his arms is enough to reassure him, however, that such a possibility was an irrational fear.

“I can see that,” Dan teases. His voice, breath, and hair simultaneously tickle the skin of Phil’s neck, and Phil rubs a hand up and down Dan’s back as a way of distracting from the pleasant feeling it brings. “I’m just curious as to why.”

Phil takes a step backwards to look at Dan, who beams at him with shining eyes. It appears that a hug had been the right call after all; there are no traces of worry in Dan’s gaze any more, no fear lining his brow.

He grins at Dan in turn, overjoyed, before shrugging. “Because you were unhappy, which means I wasn’t doing my job properly. I’ll have you know I have a ‘no frowning’ policy, and you were breaching it.”

Dan chokes with sudden laughter and pulls Phil in for another hug. “I’ll bear that in mind for the future,” Dan says, quieter this time, his voice sending vibrations throughout Phil’s form. “But just so you know, you’re doing your job just fine. I’m much happier with you around, I promise.”

When Phil finally travels home after another half hour of distraction, he almost skips into his apartment, his heart thrumming and his blood alive with energy from the day’s events. It’s only when Phil lays down to rest later that day that he notices his arm is still burning; not from the strain that Earth brings, or the violent weather that had punished his non-human form, but from one single finger that had traced it back and forth merely hours ago.

Phil brings a hand to his neck to rub it gently. Dan’s aura still lingers, his calming scent still hanging on to Phil’s clothing, making it harder for Phil to sleep than ever before. Phil bites his lip and groans at the realisation that he’s in far too deep now, even with the knowledge that being around Dan could very well kill him if he’s not careful enough.

Yet although his body suffers and the after effects are painful, no force on Earth is strong enough to drag Phil away. The torture is sickeningly sweet, and even if it wasn’t, Phil only has to envision the face of his tormenter to understand one single thing: that although being on Earth brings discomfort and pain, nothing could hurt him more than giving it all up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [relevant art for this chapter!](http://vicemir.tumblr.com/post/130485924885/the-small-circles-and-jagged-lines-feel) thank you [vicemir](http://vicemir.tumblr.com) ♥


	7. Chapter 7

_Curious_. It’s the word that comes to mind most frequently when Phil thinks about Dan, about everything Dan has done in his nineteen years of life. There hasn’t been a single decision that Dan has made up until now that hasn’t stemmed from his overwhelming curiosity. It’s the very reason why Phil sits with him now on the train from Reading back to Wokingham after a long day of adventure, of lunch beside the Jubilee Fountain and quiet walks past St. Mary’s Church.

The train journey is short and spent in silence. Being in a crowd has taken its toll on Phil, who smiles weakly at every _curious_ look that Dan offers him, wordlessly waving off the concern as if Dan’s worry is ludicrous. Phil watches the sun set slowly from his window seat instead, the orange hues melding into the clouds like foamy waves breaking on golden sand. To look up and see anything other than deep purple staining the sky is foreign to Phil, and the sight is breathtaking; Phil can’t think of anything more beautiful than the quiet glow illuminating the world before him.

Phil jumps as he feels a hand tug gently on the hem of his shirt, and he turns his head to see Dan staring back at him, the sun’s reflection mixing with the brown of his irises to make shining amber. The sight tugs at Phil’s heart, and it’s a strong competitor for the most beautiful thing he’s seen today.

“Phil?” Dan whispers, his voice low despite the emptiness of the carriage.

Phil blinks, waking himself before he’s trapped in the quicksand of Dan’s gaze, and smiles. “Yeah?”

Dan places his hand back in his lap and stares. He taps an irregular rhythm on his thighs, thinking for a while. “There’s something that’s been—not _bothering_ me, I guess,” he says, grasping at his own wrist to halt the movements. “Just something I’ve been wondering about.”

Phil could reply in the pause that follows, but his throat is too dry, so he nods encouragingly instead. Dan picks up on the response with a guilty twitch of his brow.

“You’ve seen every detail of my life, right?” Dan continues.

After a second of silent musing, Phil nods again. “Just about,” he confirms, shrugging. “There might have been stuff I’ve missed in my sleep, or when I’m not paying attention, but I know all the important bits. Why?”

The answer to his question doesn’t come. Dan chews on his lip whilst the sound of the train wheels clanking against the tracks fills the conversational gap, and momentarily the carriage darkens as the train heads through a long tunnel. When they reach the other side, Phil’s eyes readjust as he studies Dan’s face more carefully. He finds that Dan’s anxious expression hasn’t made even the slightest change.

Dan inhales with a half sigh. “So you know why I was in the hospital for so long.”

What’s supposed to be a question is phrased more as a statement, which leaves Phil no choice but to agree. There’s no way of denying it anymore, no way of talking around the subject when Dan is looking deep into his eyes and straight into his centre. To pretend that the event that ultimately brought them together never happened is ridiculous and outright criminal, especially since it’s Dan who broaches the subject. Phil can’t deny Dan the answers he needs, or rather, deserves.

“Of course I do,” Phil says, attempting to control the shakiness of his voice. Dan’s unmoving stare paired with his trembling hands is more than enough to show that he’s fighting his weaknesses. Phil intends to do the same for both of their sakes.

Dan closes his eyes, and it’s as if he’s back on the concrete, his entire body still. Phil briefly considers leaning forward to embrace him like he’d done only a week earlier, but something weighs him down and renders him immobile. Perhaps it’s the tension between them that makes the air feel as thick as cement, gluing Phil’s arms to his sides as Dan sits quietly. Phil inwardly scolds himself no matter the reason.

“Did you see who did it?” Dan asks.

Phil blinks rapidly as shadows are slowly cast upon Dan’s face, darkening his expression with the setting sun. Out of all the questions that Phil had prepared himself for, the identity of Dan’s attacker had not been one of concern. After all, the case had been closed with no evidence or suspects—Dan’s miraculous survival had overshadowed any questions regarding the attack in the end. Even Phil is guilty of letting such a detail slide. Now that Dan is before him, nervous and jarringly small, Phil wonders why he had ever let the criminal who had made Dan suffer rest.

“I was—I was attacked,” Dan explains. The blankness of his expression implies that he’s disconnected from the conversation, like his speech is a badly rehearsed script for a character he’s unfamiliar with. “I just wanted to know if you knew who did it. Or just, if you knew what he looked like.”

“I remember,” Phil replies hurriedly. An announcement over the train’s PA system informs them that the next stop is theirs, and Phil is determined to put the conversation to rest before the opportunity has passed. “I don’t know his name, but I remember his face.”

Dan’s lips form a straight line. “Okay. That’s all I wanted to know.”

It has to be a lie, because there’s no way that it’s enough, no possible reason for Dan to be satisfied with the answer he’s been provided. Phil is reluctant to pry, but it’s his job to care. Dan turns his head away in an attempt to end the conversation, forcing Phil to ask the question himself.

“Dan?” Phil tries. Dan glances back at him wordlessly. “Are you asking me this because you’d like to report him?”

Dan’s eyebrows shoot upwards as he comprehends Phil’s words, his mouth trying and failing to form a response. “No, no, don’t be—“ he starts, shaking his head. His hands move erratically, arms flailing, as if trying to convey the message his mouth fails to. Then, he hugs himself instead. “You wouldn’t even be able to—because you’re not even a real person according to the law, so—“

“Dan,” Phil interrupts. He reaches a hand out to grasp Dan’s elbow in a calming gesture, which Dan acknowledges with a shaky smile. “Try to calm down, okay? Try to relax. I can’t guarantee that I’ll ever find this guy again, but if that’s what you want, I promise I’ll try.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Yes, I do.” Phil tugs Dan’s elbow until his arms unfold, then he takes Dan’s hand into his own, clasping it firmly. It’s a bold move that closes up Phil’s throat, but his head is too consumed with the desire to comfort to let him consider the romantic implications. “You’re right. I can’t testify in court against someone when there’s no proof that I was there. But believe me, I can do so much worse.”

Briefly, Dan’s mouth hangs open, his eyes lingering where their hands lie in Phil’s lap. He hesitantly places his other hand atop of Phil’s, squeezing. Phil’s face burns fiery red in turn.

“Phil,” Dan begins, still looking down. “Don’t—don’t do anything that isn’t _you_ , okay? I don’t want you getting into trouble because of me.”

Phil laughs. It would not be the first time that the Elders had condemned him for his actions. Phil no longer fears their judgement when it’s Dan’s life that’s most important to him, even at the risk of losing his Guardianship. Guardian or not, Phil is set in his desire to keep Dan safe and happy.

“Not because of you, Dan,” Phil says eventually, his lips twisting into a sad smile. “Everything that happened was because I messed up horribly. I need to make my peace with it, too.”

A moment passes before Dan speaks again. “It wasn’t your fault, Phil.”

Phil flinches as Dan speaks, the single phrase resurfacing memories and emotions that Phil has tried so hard to forget: the bloodied image of Dan on the rain-soaked pavement, the feeling of drowning in dense air as Death had come to take his human away. But the phrase that had lost all meaning to Phil hits harder when it’s Dan who says it, and any hope Phil has of suppressing his guilt is dashed. His resolve crumbles, and Phil begins to blather, stumbling over his words whilst Dan struggles to comprehend him.

“I can’t help it,” Phil rasps, grasping Dan’s hands even tighter until both of their knuckles turn white. Dan winces a little but listens closely, his breathing laboured. “I saw everything happen with my own eyes. Dan, I’ve—I’ve moved deadlines for you, I’ve changed the weather, I’ve extended expiry dates on your favourite food. Why couldn’t I help you when it counted?”

The train grinds to a halt at Wokingham station, and the sound of wheels screeching against steel tracks jolts the two of them back to reality, hands still clasped firmly together. Their heads whip up to look at each other before Dan stands up, removing one hand to sling his bag over his shoulder. He still holds tightly on to Phil with the other and pulls him into a standing position to guide the both of them off the train to the empty platform. Phil remains speechless, trapped in the feeling of helplessness that immobilises his entire being whilst Dan takes the lead.

Once they’ve walked through the station and out into the open air, Phil squints to readjust his eyes. The sun has almost completely set, with the smallest hint of orange still tinting a small portion of the evening sky, leaving the rest of the sky dusky and grey. Dan leads him to a wall at the far end of the nearby car park and motions for him to sit, perching himself on the bricks. Phil follows and waits, confused. He’s distracted by the heat of their palms, still touching, and Dan takes a deep breath.

Silently, Dan moves Phil’s fingers so that two of them rest on Dan’s wrist, where the green and purple veins lay barely visible beneath the surface. Underneath the pads of his fingers, Phil feels dull thumping, regular in its timing, and realises that it’s Dan’s pulse beating slightly quicker than normal.

“I’m alive, Phil,” Dan states bluntly, gesturing towards their hands. Phil swallows and nods, his gaze trained on the paleness of Dan’s skin which separates Phil’s fingers from that which lies beneath. “I know I shouldn’t be. Everyone talks around it and acts as though I don’t, but I know that I shouldn’t be here right now. But I am.”

Dan sighs and rubs at his neck with the other hand. “And I know it’s because of you.”

The words are hard to swallow, but Phil listens to them anyway, because they come from Dan and they come from his heart. There’s no force in existence that can make Phil ignore the things Dan wants him to hear, so he lets him talk, quiet and accepting.

“How do you know that?” Phil asks with a knitted brow, allowing himself to hesitantly look up at Dan. Phil has been careful to avoid the topic of his role in Dan’s accident—both have been reluctant to broach the subject, but none more so that Phil—because the unavoidable truth of Phil’s failures would undoubtedly be discussed. To admit this fact to his human’s face would be painful, though not as painful as the look of betrayal that Phil is too afraid to imagine.

But Dan offers a look of sympathy rather than hurt. His eyes soften with understanding and forgiveness, and Phil wonders if perhaps Dan knows something that he himself is unaware of. It should be impossible, but so should many things about their situation—Phil has long abandoned his ability to be surprised by Dan.

“It’s not important,” Dan finally says, moving his hands away. Phil involuntarily frowns at the lack of contact, causing Dan to chuckle lightly in response despite the tension. “You said you need to make peace with the situation, and I’m giving it to you. It’s not your fault, Phil.”

Phil takes a deep breath and holds it. He feels the weight that has smothered him for far too long be lifted, and the sudden light-headedness makes it difficult to breathe. He resists the urge to pinch himself, to ensure that this isn’t a dream or a prank, to confirm that Dan really is providing him with the out that Phil has so desperately needed. The guilt that has held him hostage loosens its grasp, and Phil clears his throat to disguise how close he is to crying.

“Okay,” is all Phil manages to say. He nods to himself and repeats the words, solidifying his freedom. “Okay.”

* * *

The following week, Phil comes and goes as usual, pleased with the routine that he and Dan have fallen into. Now that the visits are scheduled and regular, it seems almost excessive to Phil that he’d ever had the desire to visit every day. The thought makes him cringe at his overbearing eagerness, and inwardly he swears never to bring up this revelation with PJ. As weeks go by, the comfort of Phil’s watch post turns out to be enough, and the luxury of isolation becomes appealing once more.

Phil leans sleepily over the edge as he watches Dan browse the internet mindlessly, an activity that allows Phil some time to relax. Night time for Dan is safe and predictable with very little for Phil to look out for. Phil passes the time by humming softly, keeping himself awake. After the third hour of boredom, Phil welcomes the sound of footsteps increasing in pace behind him, and he smiles knowingly before PJ’s hands even manage to grasp his shoulders.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, Peej,” Phil chides, twisting his neck to meet PJ’s sheepish expression. PJ shrugs, his arms frozen in mid-air, before raising them in front of himself as if he’s surrendering.

Phil chuckles to himself. Whilst some time alone is relaxing, there isn’t a single moment where PJ’s presence can be considered unwelcome.

“Caught red handed,” PJ laughs whilst Phil shuffles aside to allow for some room. PJ fills the space next to him easily and peers over the fence at Dan, who stifles a yawn, entirely oblivious. Now that Dan is aware of his existence, Phil can’t help but feel as though his watching is invasive.

PJ nudges Phil affectionately with his elbow. “Finally back to watching from afar like the rest of us, then?” he teases, to which Phil rolls his eyes mockingly. Though some time away from Dan is somewhat of a relief, Phil is quick to remember how fortunate he is. He wonders if there there’s a hint of envy behind PJ’s smiling expression, if the warmth and acceptance he offers is nothing more than a façade.

Even with this thought lurking in the back of his mind, Phil smiles. “I guess so,” he says, blasé. He takes another look over the edge of his watchpost to see that Dan has abandoned his computer, moving to the comfort of his bed to use his phone. The small screen subtly illuminates Dan’s face, and Phil grins fondly.

PJ catches sight of his grin and reads Phil’s mind. “So, how are things with Dan?” he asks.

Phil rests his chin on the palm of his hand and thinks, lips pursed. “Good,” is the word he eventually decides on, turning his body to face PJ. “Really, really good. He’s taken this whole Guardian thing really well.”

In the pause that follows, PJ frowns. “That seems a bit odd,” he responds.

Phil can’t fault him for his confusion. A whole month has passed since his first meeting with Dan, and the fact that Dan remains unconcerned about Phil’s claims feels unnervingly strange. Though he’s proved his legitimacy countless times, Dan’s simple acceptance of Phil’s existence still feels unfounded; cold coffee cups and sudden disappearing acts, whilst inhuman and impressive, could quite easily be faked.

But to complain would be laughable, so Phil allows himself to be ignorant. “Doesn’t it?” he replies instead, easing his stress with a gentle sigh. “Part of me wants to ask him why, but I don’t want to jinx it. There’s no need to make him think he should be suspicious of me. It’s not like I’m lying.”

Next to him, PJ snorts. “No, you only lie to me. I’m _joking_ ,” he adds when Phil scowls at him, unimpressed. But Phil accepts the judgement with a quiet groan. “I’m glad everything is going okay.”

Phil looks down at Dan once again to see him staring at his bedroom ceiling, motionless. Phil cranes his neck up at the violet sky hanging above him, as if he and Dan are back on the hillside, laying in silence whilst admiring the twilight view. For a moment, he allows himself to fantasize, wondering if Dan is doing the same. But there are no sunset or stars here, and Phil’s stomach drops with disappointment.

“Me too,” Phil confesses quietly, resisting the smothering urge to reveal the truth. Because in reality, Phil hasn’t forgotten the increased stinging of his arm with every day spent on Earth, nor has he forgotten the dizzying sensation that almost suffocates him every time he travels. Phil pulls back his sleeve and stares at his forearm, stained with the mark that brands him as inhuman. For all intents and purposes, nothing about the situation can be described as ‘okay’—except the rush of warmth Phil feels when he’s distracted from the pain by Dan’s quiet laughter and gentle smile.

It’s this nagging thought that makes everything clear: Phil’s tired of playing pretend, of acting as though his feelings for Dan are nothing more than friendship. He’s tried and failed too many times to brush off the rush that overwhelms him when he’s in Dan’s presence, and he can no longer justify the intense increase of his heartbeat when their hands touch. Not once in hundreds of years has Phil had a friend who could make him blush or stutter with only a look, and he knows what these reactions mean in the grand scheme of things. Accepting it is difficult, but Phil is exhausted from fighting.

Against his better judgement, Phil makes a decision. “PJ, I need to tell you something.”

The sternness of his voice makes PJ’s expression fall, but he nods regardless, his lips forming a straight line. Phil wonders if it’s even possible to surprise PJ at this point in time.

“Go ahead,” PJ says.

Something in Phil’s throat closes up when he tries to speak, and momentarily he wonders if he’s going to choke. He takes deep breaths and regulates his breathing, calming his jittering nerves, and looks back down at Dan for comfort. The sight of Dan, now at his desk and scribbling on paper, is enough to make Phil feel confident in his admission.

“I think I like him, Peej,” Phil blurts, red-faced, and tries desperately to avoid PJ’s line of sight. When Phil finally gathers the courage to look back, he sees PJ frowning like he doesn’t understand.

PJ folds his arms with deliberate slowness, his fingers tightening around his forearms. His eyes dart from side to side, either panicked or confused or both, before he chooses his words carefully.

“He’s your human,” PJ states bluntly. “You’re supposed to like him.”

“No, it’s—“ Phil starts, immediately rubbing at his eyes in frustration. PJ’s relationship with his human is undoubtedly filial, and Phil knows in his heart that PJ can spot the glaring differences. PJ never pines for his human, nor does his human consume all of his thoughts. To pretend that Phil’s intentions are the same is nothing more than delusional. “Please don’t make me say it.”

With a long sigh, PJ’s eyes flutter shut. “I’m going to make you say it,” he says, calm and controlled. Then his eyes reopen into an intimidating glare, and Phil struggles not to shudder from the intensity of it.

Though he wishes he could, it’s too late for Phil to take back his words. “I _hate_ you,” he groans, embarrassed now that he’s forced to admit it out loud.

PJ’s lips twitch upward just slightly at his whining, which puts Phil’s mind at ease just a little and lends him the strength to form his next words.

“All right, fine,” Phil breathes. “I have a crush on him. Are you happy now?”

PJ’s face scrunches up as if he’s been punched, but he remains quiet, chewing on his lip. Phil winces in anticipation. Though he’s thrown several dilemmas PJ’s way in the past, there’s a nagging fear in the back of his mind telling him that perhaps this time it’s too much and that PJ can’t help him with his problems anymore, that enough is finally enough.

“I don’t think ‘happy’ is the right word for it,” PJ finally replies, before falling silent, leaning back against Phil’s watchpost as if he’s been robbed of his ability to stand. It’s the first time Phil has ever seen his best friend so drained of energy and speechless rather than resilient and full of wisdom.

But for the first time in their existences, PJ offers no answers. Comfort or reassurance don’t come, and Phil is left with no option but to look back down at Dan, who’s still busy scribbling something at his desk that’s too illegible for Phil to read from where he stands.

“It gets worse,” Phil says wistfully. He hears PJ shift beside him, readying himself for another blow. “I think he might have a crush on me, too.”

There’s no response this time, and Phil is too afraid to even imagine the expression that PJ is making. Rather, he continues to stare at Dan, absorbing the sights and sounds before him as if Phil is present in the room. Dan’s room is dark save for the glow of his phone’s screen, and the only sound is the bedside fan that he leaves running throughout the night to fill the silence of his room. Dan has always been afraid of isolation, afraid of feeling alone—nothing frightens him more than the sound of nothingness. It’s a feeling that Phil empathises with on some level. After all, Phil has never been alone; Dan has always been with him in some way or another.

PJ drags him back to the watch post, away from Dan, with a simple question. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t know, Peej. He’s—“ Phil begins and cuts himself off to search for the right words. Despite the long list that Phil has created in his mind, only one word stands out to him as the truest. “—Lonely. And I could be misreading things, or seeing things that aren’t there, or maybe it’s wishful thinking. I don’t know anymore.”

With nineteen years of experience under his belt, Phil is certain that he knows when Dan is interested in someone, and that he can pick up on when Dan is flirting. But the fear of losing whatever they have is too strong for Phil to push forward, and he’ll risk losing Dan’s interest if it means keeping his friendship.

Still, it’s a lie to say that Phil isn’t interested. He groans once again, frustrated, and continues to babble. “I try to test the waters to see if I’m right and I’m just more confused every time. And I don’t want to ask, because what if I’m wrong?”

Momentarily, PJ says nothing. Out of the corner of his eye Phil sees PJ’s fingers loosen their grip on his forearms, and eventually his arms unfold.

“Okay,” PJ says, placing his hands firmly on his hips. Phil cranes his neck upwards to study his position curiously. “So, what if you’re wrong?”

Phil blinks. “That’s what I’m asking.”

After the intensity of PJ’s glare, Phil welcomes the sound of him snorting. Phil’s worries subside for just a moment, allowing him to relax.

“You’re asking the question, but you’re not interested in finding the answer,” PJ states frankly, leaning forward to grasp Phil’s shoulder. He shakes him a little too roughly, sending a wave of dizziness throughout Phil’s body. “Stop being so afraid. You know Dan better than anyone else. Really think about it—would he act this way if he wasn’t interested in you?”

Phil purses his lips in deep thought, racking his brain. Dan is flirtatious in nature, but rarely flustered. Phil can’t deny the subtle blushes that heat Dan’s cheeks when Phil implies something more than friendship, nor can he pretend that he hasn’t seen Dan cast stealthy glances his way when he thinks Phil isn’t looking. Dan has dated in the past and acted much the same way, embarrassed and shy and giddy all at once. Though it feels almost arrogant of Phil to say, all the signs point to only one conclusion.

“I don’t think so,” Phil sighs.

“Then there’s your answer,” PJ says, nudging Phil gently with his elbow. “If you want the truth, I don’t think how Dan feels is the issue here.”

Phil laughs hopelessly, because naturally there’s more to worry about than their feelings. Would a relationship between a human and their Guardian be plausible? Would it be morally acceptable? Would Dan even be interested in pursuing a relationship? There’s not one question that Phil considers the most urgent of his problems, so he drops his face into his hands, exhaling.

“Then what is?” Phil asks. PJ casts him a sympathetic look before standing up straight, the sound of the fence creaking making Phil jump; he stares up at PJ desperately and waits, anticipating his words with every passing second.

PJ pats him on the back affectionately and leans back over the watchpost, looking down at Dan’s bedroom. “It’s not a problem if you _like_ him, Phil. Just please, _please_ don’t fall in love with him.”

Before Phil can speak, he’s distracted by the sight of Dan getting out of his chair, a small sheet of paper grasped tightly in his hand. He holds it up in the air determinedly, and Phil squints to read the words written in block capitals across the paper. Though Dan’s writing is both messy and small, Phil manages to decode the short sentence before him: ‘ _CAN YOU SEE THIS, PHIL?_ ’

Dan jumps up and down the spot several times in an attempt to draw attention to himself. Phil’s chest tightens, PJ visibly stills, and Dan’s stare bores a hole straight through Phil’s entire being.

Phil swallows and rubs at his wrists, suddenly both happy and afraid. “You might be too late.”

* * *

There are many things that Phil wishes he had known about, in hindsight.

Perhaps at the top of this mental list is the night of Dan’s accident. Phil hadn’t known, for example, that Dan would take a different route home from work that night. This should have been the first clue that the night would pan out differently than usual. The fact that Dan had walked home rather than driving should have been another, since his car had ran out of fuel the previous night, leaving him no other choice but to travel home on foot. The final thing that Phil desperately wishes he’d have known on that fateful night is how an attempted mugging would change the lives of both Dan and himself; if Phil had seen into the future and saw what lied ahead for the two of them, it’s difficult not to wonder whether he would have allowed such a tragedy to occur at all.

Phil represses these thoughts easily. After all, Phil has never been known for making sensible choices. If he was, he wouldn’t be standing silent in the centre of Dan’s bedroom, quietly creeping up behind his human in an attempt to startle him after a week’s absence.

Phil inches quietly towards the computer chair where Dan sits, swinging absentmindedly from left to right. Large headphones sit firmly over his ears, blasting music and making him entirely unaware of Phil’s presence. Phil waits until he’s merely centimetres away before he suddenly clamps his hands down over Dan’s shoulders. Dan yelps and flails, losing his balance, and Phil is forced to grasp the chair before it topples over on to Dan’s unkempt floor.

When it’s clear that Dan is unharmed, Phil breaks out into reels of laughter, causing Dan to turn and face him with a scowl, his skin painted red with both shock and embarrassment. Phil instinctively reaches forward to fix a loose strand of hair on Dan’s head, but he catches himself and hesitates. Dan wets his lips as a small smile creeps across his face, which Phil mirrors easily. Unsaid feelings briefly surface in Phil’s throat that he forcefully swallows down—he’s yet to make a decision on how to approach the subject, so he leaves the words unspoken for now.

“You could have knocked, you know,” Dan coughs, still red-faced, and Phil rolls his eyes. He takes a step backwards to allow Dan to get out of his chair, prompting Dan to loop his arms around Phil’s waist in an embrace. It’s unexpected, but Phil accepts it happily and without complaint.

“I did,” Phil laughs, his words muffled by Dan’s shoulder. “Nobody answered, though. I thought I’d take the liberty of letting myself in.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” Dan pulls away with a grin, noticeably avoiding Phil’s line of sight. Rather, he takes Phil by the wrist and drags him towards the bed, tugging the two of them down until they lie side by side. Their legs dangle loosely off the edge, relaxed, and Phil lets his eyes flutter shut from exhaustion.

Though his eyes are shut tight, Phil feels the intensity of Dan’s stare beside him. “I saw your sign,” Phil murmurs, gesturing above him with one hand. The sound of Dan shuffling on the bed prompts him to open one eye curiously; next to him, Dan smiles, his fingers locked firmly together on his chest.

Dan looks up at the ceiling and shrugs. “Did you?” he asks nonchalantly. “So you really _do_ see everything, then.”

Phil nods. “A bit like Santa Claus, but not as creepy.”

Beside him, Dan splutters, covering his mouth with one hand to stifle his laughter. He tries and fails to speak, his voice cracking with every attempt, so he settles on slapping Phil gently on the arm to express his feelings. Phil smirks, pleased with himself, and basks silently in the appreciation.

Dan chokes until he finally settles down, exhaling slowly. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Phil rubs at his chin in faux thought, humming. “Not this week, no,” he says, to which Dan delivers another slap on the knee. He follows Phil’s lead until they’re both sat on their knees, face to face, his lips pursed tightly to withhold the true width of his smile.

“Well, I’m glad that’s been established, then,” Dan replies mockingly, playing with the hem of his jumper.

There’s something about Dan’s behaviour that’s different than usual; he’s more forward, more flustered and airy in a way that Phil hasn’t seen before. It’s hard to ignore when thoughts of romance have been plaguing Phil’s mind for the past few days, and he wonders whether now is the time to discuss them.

Phil’s tongue darts over his lips in preparation for what he wants to say, mentally building himself up for possible rejection. He opens his mouth to speak just as Dan does the same, cutting Phil off before he can say a word.

“My family aren’t home,” Dan blurts, blushing. Phil’s head tilts to one side at the seemingly unprovoked statement and waits for an explanation. “My parents have taken my brother to his football match.”

Before Phil can ask the obvious, Dan’s hand creeps gently towards his own, the tips of their fingers making brief contact. The feeling of skin on skin burns, from either the intense feelings behind the movement or the fact that Earth’s atmosphere is still destroying Phil’s body layer by layer, or both. Phil simultaneously fights the urges to yank his hand away and to pull Dan’s nearer.

It’s only when he notices Dan biting his lip and staring bashfully at the bed that Phil understands the implications; his breath catches in his throat, and he stammers, suddenly afraid.

“Oh?” Phil says weakly, pulling his trembling hand away. Dan’s face falls abruptly, but despite the twist in Phil’s gut, there are certain expectations that he isn’t ready to fulfill. Phil rests his hand in his lap as his fingers curl around nothing, craving Dan’s touch but resisting the need to reach out once again.

Instead, Phil stutters, his mind racing for an appropriate escape. “Do you have any more paper?”

A moment of silence follows in which Dan stares, his eyebrows knitted firmly together. “What?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. Phil smiles as though nothing odd has passed between them and shrugs.

“Some paper,” Phil repeats. “I’ve—I’ve got an idea for something, that’s all.”

Dan moves his hand away and back onto his knee, his face returning to its regular expression. Internally, Phil breathes a sigh of relief. Discussing the possibility of a relationship would have to come later.

“ _Okay_ ,” Dan replies, dragging out the vowels unsurely. He pushes himself off the bed and approaches his desk, his footsteps unbearably loud in the uncomfortable silence. Phil cringes with every step, but he ensures that he’s smiling when Dan faces him again, several sheets of paper held loosely in his hand.

Phil takes them from him with a murmured “Thank you,” before peering under Dan’s bed to reach for the pair of scissors and the pencil that he knows are stashed in a stationary set amongst the mess. He begins to draw as Dan sits entirely mute, one curious brow lifted. Not once does Dan question Phil’s intentions, however, so he’s left in the dark until Phil’s drawing is complete: an entire row of paper dolls standing neatly beside each other across the page.

With pursed lips, Dan reaches forward to take the drawing from Phil’s hands. “Paper dolls?” he asks, confused. Phil nods with an encouraging grin, proud of his work despite the wonky lines and lack of colour.

Dan exhales sharply through his nose with a small laugh, turning the drawing from left to right as he inspects it properly. Then, he opens his palm out towards Phil. “I can cut them, if you want,” he says, and Phil’s smile grows wider.

He passes the scissors to Dan, who takes them and begins to cut along the edges of the dolls carefully. His brow furrows in concentration as Phil watches, small lines appearing on Dan’s forehead that Phil considers trying to smooth out with his fingers. Eventually, the blank space around the drawings falls to the bed, and Dan holds the finished product in front of his face with a barely noticeable smile.

This pattern continues until all the paper Dan had provided is gone—Phil draws and Dan cuts, occasionally filling the conversational void with small talk about the days they’ve spent apart, or making plans for the following week. Though Phil’s original reasoning for the activity had merely been to distract, ultimately the routine of drawing and cutting becomes therapeutic. Day turns slowly into night without either of them noticing, making the dimly lit room even darker in the moonlight. Eventually Dan’s bed is littered with paper dolls, each with a different design and uneven edges, until finally they reach the last sheet.

When the sound of a car door slamming outside jolts the both of them out of their reverie, Phil looks up from the pile of paper dolls wordlessly, signifying that it’s time for him to leave. Dan pouts, but he nods, and the two of them rise to their feet reluctantly to say good-bye once again.

"Same time again next week?" Phil says, opening his arms for a hug.

Dan obliges easily and slips into his arms, sighing heavily against Phil’s shoulder, and Phil’s heart warms at the knowledge that they slot perfectly into each other, even with the significant height difference between them.

"The sooner, the better," Dan says, swinging from side to side in the embrace. "I'll miss you. Sorry if that sounds needy."

Once Phil manages to process what Dan has said, he laughs and squeezes him tighter. "It doesn't. I'll miss you too," Phil confesses with a shy grin. He could very quickly become used to Dan referring to himself as _needy_ in relation to their time together. "See you next week."

The two of them pull apart and Phil takes several steps away, readying himself to travel. He envisions his home—his watchpost, his apartment, and the violet sky that has become increasingly duller with every week that passes—and the world begins to dim, his body humming with electricity in an attempt to shift his entire being from one world to the next. Phil’s head begins to cloud, his vision becomes muddy, and for a moment he’s unsure where he is or what is happening. It’s only when Phil blinks and his vision clears that he realises he’s still in Dan’s bedroom, with Dan only several steps away, staring at him blankly.

Phil shakes his head and stumbles, only barely catching himself on Dan’s desk to support his body.

"Phil?" Dan tries. He approaches Phil carefully with one arm outstretched, and he places it supportively onto Phil’s back. "Is everything okay?"

Phil struggles to understand Dan despite the clarity of his voice, as if all of a sudden he’s lost all comprehension of the English language. Several uninterrupted seconds of silence pass as Phil tries to decode his words, before making an attempt at speaking himself.

"I, um," Phil starts. He brings a hand to his head as a wave of nausea hits him, and Dan rubs his back soothingly at the first signs of Phil’s distress. "I don't know?"

Phil begins to sway, and Dan gasps. “Woah, woah, woah," Dan stammers, completely breathless as his face flushes in panic. Even though Phil can hear the sounds of Dan’s family moving around, Dan pays them no heed, entirely focused on keeping Phil steady. "Phil, sit down. You look like hell all of a sudden. What's going on?"

With his throat too dry to speak, Phil shakes his head and swallows before trying to put his thoughts into words. "I--I really don't know," Phil breathes. Dan nods in encouragement, his eyes glazed over with tears. "I just tried to travel and—I got dizzy out of nowhere. That's never happened before."

When he’s finished speaking, Phil’s freezes in place as a small voice reminds him that this isn’t entirely the truth. For a moment, he’s back outside the hospital, walking Dan to his mother’s car and supporting him in much the same way that Dan does now. It had taken weeks and weeks of time on Earth to put Phil in a position where travelling was difficult. It had been the closest Phil has ever felt to being powerless, and now it’s a reality again.

Phil wets his lips and exhales. "Well, only once."

The feeling of Dan’s fingers trembling on his back is heartbreaking, but there’s nothing Phil can do to stop it when he’s so overwhelmed with pain and confusion himself. In the fogginess of his mind he barely makes out the sound of Dan whispering, "You don't think that...?"

"Maybe," Phil mumbles, mentally filling in the blanks. He uses both Dan and the desk as leverage to stand upright before gesturing blindly towards the bed. "I think I need to lie down, if that's okay."

"Yeah, of course," Dan replies and guides him shakily over to the mattress. Phil lays on his back as Dan stoops over him, pulling a blanket over Phil’s body to calm the occasional shivers that travel up his spine. Sweat begins to bead at Phil’s forehead, plastering his fringe to his skin, so Dan brushes it back with shaking hands. "So this is really bad, right?"

" _Really_ bad," Phil confirms, wincing when another wave of pain shoots through his body. He shakes his head and rambles, angry and confused and a more than a little afraid. "God, Dan, I'm so stupid. So, so stupid."

Through the haze of his vision, Phil makes out Dan’s worried expression, his cheeks red and his bottom lip caught desperately between his teeth.

"Phil," Dan murmurs, shaking his head and shrugging helplessly. Even in his current state, Phil wonders if it’s too much for him to reach forward and cup Dan’s cheek as a way of calming him. "What... what does this mean, exactly?"

The world fades out of Phil’s sight one last time, and Phil lets his eyes drop shut. "Dan, I'm _really_ tired."

"Right," Dan breathes, fixing the blanket on Phil’s body and taking a step back. "Right, I'm sorry. I'll be here when you need me."

Dan flicks the light switch so that the entire room is as dark as Phil’s vision already makes it seem, bringing very little relief to his pounding head. Through closed eyes Phil hears the bedroom door click shut, followed by the sound of Dan leaning against the frame with a shaky exhale. Any feelings of empathy or fear Phil might have are entirely overwhelmed by exhaustion as he begins to drift to sleep, and briefly he hallucinates, as if he’s dreaming; sound, touch, and colour all meld into a single sensation, warping Phil’s reality until he loses all sense of his surroundings.

Through it all, he feels a dull ache slowly enveloping his left forearm, the regular pounding like a ticking clock, reminding him just how long he’s had to prepare for this moment.


	8. Chapter 8

The week that follows is strenuous.

In the past, Phil may have considered spending a week straight with Dan desirable, something only possible in the wildest corners of his imagination. Now that his dreams are reality, Phil finds that there really can be too much of a good thing.

Phil spends seven consecutive days holed up in Dan’s room, angry and afraid and unsure of what to do next. Explaining his sudden stay to Dan’s family only makes things even more stressful, and by the seventh day the two of them are at their wits' end. Solitude becomes preferable, and the times when Dan is at work and Phil is all alone prove to be an interesting learning experience.

Sleeping becomes increasingly appealing to Phil with every passing day. During his first night stuck on Earth, Phil had passed out on Dan’s bed, leaving Dan no option but to sleep curled up inside a sleeping bag on his bedroom floor. After they had both awoken, only a hug from Dan had stopped Phil’s waterfall of apologies.

The constant feeling of fatigue and the fear of falling asleep only to never wake again are all prominent in the back of Phil’s mind, though neither more so than the endless thudding sensation along his left arm.

After the first week passes, Dan apparently decides that enough is enough. He steps into his bedroom on Friday evening, gently closing the door as he enters in case Phil is sleeping.

Phil isn’t, instead laid unmoving on Dan’s bed. But the pile of bedsheets thrown over his head muffles his hearing, so he doesn’t acknowledge Dan’s presence until Dan clears his throat.

“Phil,” Dan says sternly. He stands amongst the clothes strewn across his carpet, most of which Phil has been borrowing. “Talk to me.”

Phil winces whilst Dan speaks, even though his voice is quiet. Feeling as though he’s caught in a never-ending hangover, Phil struggles to look up from the ground. He sees Dan standing with folded arms, stony-faced and chin slightly raised.

 _Talking_. There hasn’t been enough of that lately. Phil can barely remember the moments when he’s awake, and during the times that he is, Dan is rarely home. Not that it matters if Dan is around or not, for even in his conscious moments Phil exerts as little energy as possible. He bores holes into the pristine white ceiling with his eyes, hoping to communicate a message to PJ somehow and groaning in frustration when his efforts are proven useless.

Dan coughs, reminding Phil of his presence. Phil rubs at his eyes sleepily and forces himself into a sitting position. The scrunched up bedsheets, unmade for a while now, slip through his trembling hands. “About what?”

It’s been so long since Phil has spoken out loud that his voice now sounds hoarse and almost unidentifiable, and Dan’s jaw tightens in response. Phil has avoided this conversation for too long now, though, so he sighs and gets to his feet, hugging himself for both warmth and comfort.

“We need to talk about this,” Dan almost whispers when they’re eye to eye, Phil’s pale body barely standing upright in front of him. Outside in the hallway a floorboard creaks, and both of their heads whip towards the sound; the need to be cautious has only increased since Phil’s stay, and it’s a blessing that Phil has rarely encountered any member of Dan’s family since announcing his residency. The sound of footsteps walking away from their direction draws a sigh of relief out of both of them, and Dan’s eyes harden once more.

When Phil doesn’t automatically snap, merely wetting his lips and nodding instead, Dan’s shoulders relax a little. The emotional and physical stress of the past week have made both of them more than a little tense.

“Okay,” Phil agrees, his voice cracking. He shrugs helplessly, having exhausted all his energy from standing up alone. “What is there to say? I can’t leave.”

“But why not?” Dan immediately bites, and Phil flinches. “You said your friend was on Earth for months before she disappeared. You were here for barely a day. It doesn’t make any sense, Phil.”

A small shiver runs down Phil’s spine as he pictures Louise, fair-haired and smiling sweetly, experiencing the pain that he’s experiencing now. Discovering what had truly happened to her is becoming more possible with each day, though it’s unfortunate that Phil may not be around to tell anyone about it.

“I don’t know,” Phil admits, shaking his head. “I thought I understood everything, but—but I guess not. I don’t know, Dan.”

Dan inhales sharply as his eyes glaze over. Phil empathises with his frustration easily.

“This is so fucked up,” Dan croaks. He turns his back to Phil and steps away, facing the wall whilst rubbing at his eyes. Phil is hesitant to approach him in case Dan breaks, both from embarrassment at his tears and the feeling of guilt that overwhelms them both. Dan’s concern would be heart-warming if it weren’t so heart- _breaking_ —there’s something bittersweet about knowing that for the first time in nineteen years, Dan understands how Phil has felt all along, the unconditional desire to protect.

Despite the dangers, Phil walks slowly towards him, one arm outstretched. “Come here,” he whispers, grasping Dan’s shoulders to spin him back around. Dan fights it, shrugging Phil off as if he’s poisonous to the touch, but Phil fights harder. One they’re face to face once more, Dan covers his face with his hands, until Phil pulls them away and reveals tear tracks trailing from Dan’s puffy eyes.

“Aren’t you scared?” Dan asks, his voice thick and hysterical.

Phil can’t help but offer Dan his own watery smile, cupping Dan’s cheek as he does so. His pale hands are prominent against Dan’s skin, causing a feeling of dread to plummet to the bottom of Phil’s stomach. His arms slip easily around Dan’s shoulders as they embrace, and the two of them shake and sob in each other’s arms.

Phil rocks him from side to side until their crying dies down. “Of course I am, Dan, but—“ he starts before stopping himself mid-sentence. There’s no ‘but’ to reassure him with, no alternative to the situation they’re in. But Dan’s worry and care stir something within Phil that the past week has taken away, so Phil raises his chin and makes his bravest face, pulling Dan closer. “—But we can’t carry on like this. Every day could be the last day we spend together.”

Though his words are intended to be reassuring, Dan only cries harder, and Phil inwardly scolds himself for his tactlessness.

“So,” Phil rushes to add, carding his fingers through Dan’s hair whilst he speaks, “We have to make the most of our time together now. Agreed?”

After a moment Dan sniffs and pulls back, though the two of them still remain chest to chest. Eventually he nods, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, and offers Phil the smallest of smiles.

“Agreed,” Dan says before leaning his chin on Phil’s shoulder sleepily. Phil feels Dan’s heartbeat through the fabric of their clothes and he uses it to keep from toppling over, allowing both Dan’s arms and aura to keep him standing straight. Even with the rain pelting hard against the window, Dan’s room is warm and cosy, perhaps even more so than Dan’s tight embrace.

Phil pulls away from Dan and stumbles over to the bed, lifting the covers back to climb beneath the sheets. He holds the covers open and pats the space beside him as a brave invitation for Dan to join him. Even with his face red and blotchy, Dan raises a curious eyebrow and smiles a little.

When another floorboard creaks, Dan glances subtly towards the bedroom door, but he overcomes his moment of panic easily when their he meets Phil’s eyes. Dan settles down beside him, laying quietly with his back against Phil’s chest.

“Long day at work?” Phil asks before laughing at how incredibly domestic it sounds. Dan laughs a little himself, the sound muffled by the pillow against his face, before sighing drowsily.

“Yeah,” Dan says blearily, already giving in to the feeling of exhaustion. “There’s nothing I want more than a nap right now.”

Even in their current position, Phil still tenses. “Do you want me to move?” he asks hesitantly, shuffling backwards until an inch of space is between them. “You’ll probably sleep better if you have the bed to yourself.”

Dan shakes his head fervently, mussing up his already matted hair. “No, stay,” he whispers, and Phil feels his face heat up with a blush. “You’re warm, and you give good cuddles. And you smell _really_ good.”

“You’re just rambling, now.”

“I’m not. It’s true.”

Phil’s heartbeat increases dramatically in speed with every word, giving him the courage to press himself against Dan’s back once more, this time throwing an arm over Dan’s waist so there’s no longer any part of them that isn’t touching. Dan sighs happily as he does so, unsubtly moving back to ensure that they’re positioned as close as possible. When enough time passes, he slowly begins to snore.

After an entire week of limited communication it seems that a simple conversation with Dan has momentarily cured a variety of Phil’s ailments. His head is still fuzzy, but now from euphoria and the sensation of Dan’s fingers curled tightly in his own. His throat is still dry, but only from the hitch of his breath every time Dan murmurs in his sleep, the sound only centimetres away from Phil’s body. And Phil still so desperately wants to sleep, exhausted throughout his entire being despite hardly moving at all during the day. But now it’s from the intense need to feel what it’s like to sleep with Dan in his arms, and the fear of living another day without knowing it.

* * *

The second week proves to be enlightening.

Most importantly, standing up becomes less of a task. Phil no longer needs to use Dan as leverage every time he rolls out of bed, nor does he stumble a little with every step anymore.  The mood quickly brightens, and conversations begin to feel natural again. Phil still feels woozy and panicked when he’s stood stationary for long periods of time, but Dan is there to offer a supportive shoulder and soothing hug whenever necessary, so the constant feeling of illness holds a few hidden blessings.

Though Phil knows he isn’t getting any better, it’s comforting to know that he’s at least getting _used_ to withering away.

A notable downside to fragility is that Phil can no longer enjoy the sudden increase in the rainstorms that he’s grown to love. Any attempts to sneak onto Dan’s garden in the midst of heavy rainfall are interrupted almost immediately by Dan’s fingers clasping around Phil’s slender wrist, tugging him away to the living room with very little effort. There, Phil sits and sulks whilst Dan hides a smile, lecturing Phil again and again on the dangers of pneumonia, how people with impaired immune systems are “— _at a much higher risk than most people, Phil, and I swear to God if you die from a bit of wind and rain_ —“

Dan always stops in his tracks, however, his lips twitching with a frown, and the lecture ends abruptly. Phil casts him a sympathetic look to show that it’s okay, that they’re past the point of pretending and that it’s best to accept everything for what it is, and Dan always leaves the window open a crack as a compromise.

Today, Phil leans against the windowsill, soaking in the image of the rain pelting against the driveway, hypnotized. If Dan were home he would scold him, both for endangering his health _and_ for drenching the curtains, but the house is entirely empty whilst Dan and his family are at work or school. Though he’s loath to directly ignore Dan’s wishes unless completely necessary, Phil is getting better at taking risks now he has very little to lose. With the threat of disappearance so close on the horizon, taking a moment to enjoy the rain feels like a well-deserved reward for Phil’s lifelong servitude.

He pushes the window open a little more before reaching his hand outside into the fresh air. The rain instantly douses him, running small streams down his fingers and forearm, over the mark that acts as his death sentence. The throbbing of it subsides a little and Phil sighs, a pleasant shiver travelling through his body and directly to his core.

“Close that window or I’m shutting it on your fingers,” Dan says, closing the front door behind him with force. Phil only jumps a little, both because he’s not all that surprised to see Dan and because he’s physically incapable of sudden movement. He turns to face Dan with a gentle smile before fighting to stifle a laugh at the sight of him soaked from head to toe, shivering with a miserable expression. In some ways, Phil is jealous; to be bathed in icy rain water is something that he may never experience again.

Dan scowls warningly at Phil, unzipping his coat and shedding it with speed, and Phil grins in apology. He turns back to the window and pulls it closed, his arm now thoroughly wet, and rests his chin on his dry hand lazily.

“Sorry,” Phil laughs, his eyes following a single droplet as it races down the window pane. “I thought I could get away with it. I didn’t know you’d be home so soon.”

With a sigh, Dan ruffles his wet hair with both his hands in an attempt to dry it before walking over to where Phil stands. “It’s 3 o’ clock,” Dan reminds him, red faced and short of breath. “Besides, I saw you from across the road.”

The way Dan’s hair begins to curl at the tips is more than a little endearing, so Phil reaches his up to tug gently at the strands. Dan scrunches up his face with distaste, although he can’t hide the small smile that threatens to flourish at Phil’s touch.

“I didn’t realise,” Phil admits. “I should probably get better at human timekeeping. Or get better eyesight.”

Dan snorts and shoves Phil playfully. “I mean, your eyesight _is_ terrible.”

“Thanks.”

“You said it first.”

“Well, you said it meaner.”

Phil only smirks for a second before he’s laughing, the sound forcing Dan to follow suit. When their laughter dies down and the moment passes, the two of them remain in silence, engrossed in the sight of the shower outside. The gaps in conversation are filled with the sound of soft rain, and eventually Dan disappears into the kitchen without a word. He reappears moments later with dining chairs to sit on. With them he brings a large blanket, which Phil takes gratefully to wrap around their bodies for extra warmth.

They sidle up to each other, their triceps touching, allowing for the heat of their bodies to make up for where the blanket doesn’t cover. It’s useless in retrospect, because Dan’s skin is freezing cold and wet to the touch, but Phil keeps his complaints to himself. After too long of denying his feelings and avoiding acting upon them, Phil is willing to indulge himself every once in a while.

Eventually, Dan shifts, slowly dropping his head onto Phil’s shoulder. Phil briefly wonders whether Dan has fallen asleep already, as it would not be the first time that a long day at work had exhausted him to the point of instantaneous sleep. But Dan still shifts a little every few seconds, and when Phil glances down to investigate he finds that Dan’s eyes are open, albeit droopy from fighting to stay awake. Phil moves to rest his cheek on the top of Dan’s head, his hair tickling Phil’s chin and sending pleasant chills down his spine. If Phil were braver he would press a kiss amongst Dan’s messy curls, but without knowing for certain what Dan’s true feelings are Phil is too afraid to take the risk.

 _If we were a couple, things would be different_ , Phil thinks. _If I wasn’t his Guardian, then everything could have turned out just fine._

Somewhere in the midst of Phil’s thoughts, he hears Dan speak something softly. His words are drowned out by the sound of the rain against the window, so Phil blinks and hums questioningly, too drowsy to put his queries into words. Dan swipes his tongue over his dried lips, still staring directly ahead at the downpour before them, and repeats himself.

"I saw you once, when I was in the hospital."

It’s as if every atom in Phil’s body freezes in place. Without looking at Dan, Phil replays Dan’s words in his head, breaking them down syllable by syllable until he can confirm their meaning.

"What?" Phil asks, breathless.

"I saw you." Dan isn’t looking at him, either. He’s picking at his nails nervously and chewing the inside of his mouth, and if Phil didn’t currently feel as though he were made of stone, he would wrap his arms around Dan in a feeble attempt to soothe him. "The morning after my first operation—when I was first admitted—I opened my eyes and I saw you. I think my family were asleep, because none of them were sat in the chair next to me. Except—"

Dan’s breath hitches before he can finish, a physical blockade in his windpipe making it impossible to speak. He clears his throat almost violently and rasps, "Except, you were."

A mental dam breaks in Phil’s fogged mind, memories flooding back to him that suddenly begin to make sense. It should be impossible for Dan’s claims to be true, but it’s the only explanation for everything that has left Phil questioning Dan’s words and actions over the past few weeks. Because despite all the evidence he has provided, from soothing Dan’s injuries to sudden teleportation, there’s a small part of Phil has always expected complete rejection. But Dan had lain on the hillside and questioned Phil’s origins. He has been reluctant to discuss his time in the hospital and has accepted every truth that Phil has provided him with without complaint. It’s the final puzzle piece that Phil has been looking for, even if the truth of it should be impossible.

Dan remains unaware of Phil’s inner thoughts, playing nervously with his hands. He continues to speak. "You weren't saying anything, you were sort of just—sitting there. Holding my hand. It was quite creepy to be honest.”

Phil’s face softens with sympathy. The endless days he had spent by Dan’s side are a blur, so he’s unsure of the time that Dan recalls, but from the description alone Phil doesn’t doubt the legitimacy of it.

“I was really scared, so I just laid there for a bit. Eventually I fell asleep again, and when I woke up, you were gone."

Dan finishes by meeting Phil’s wide eyes, his own eyes bleary with what can only be fatigue. From the way his body droops, his head dangerously close to slipping off of Phil’s shoulder, it’s almost as if Dan is drunkenly confessing a secret.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Phil croaks into the silence. It’s not the only question that he has for Dan, but at the moment, it’s the most important.

In the seconds following Phil’s query, Dan chews on his lips and looks away once more. "I thought—" he begins before scrunching up his forehead in frustration and taking a deep breath. "I thought I was dead, Phil. It's like, I knew you were an angel, and it terrified me because I thought for sure I was dead. When you reappeared in my room all that time later, I was too afraid to say anything about it. Because—"

Dan trails off, his eyes squeezed shut in distress. Phil raises a hand to Dan’s arm and strokes it soothingly, repeating the motion until Dan is calm and ready to speak again.

Dan catches Phil’s hand and holds it in place, pressed firmly against the skin of his arm, and squeezes it in silent thanks. The action is enough for Dan’s breathing to regulate, and it gives him the courage to finish saying what he needs to. "—Because if I can see you, does that mean that I really did die back then, and that all of this is just a dream?"

Phil wants to speak, but he’s robbed of his breath. The sight of Dan, small and timid and undeniably _alive_ is too sacred for Phil to put into words, and if Phil could erase the look of desperation from Dan’s expression with willpower alone, he’d do it in a heartbeat. The sound of Dan’s shallow, scared breathing is both heartbreaking and totally relieving, and although Phil knows that Dan’s fears are unfounded they still instill feelings of sickness in his stomach.

"Oh, Dan,” Phil rasps. To remain silent would be to keep Dan trapped in his dread, and Phil refuses to be Dan’s tormentor. “You didn't die. You're here."

"I know I'm here," Dan says weakly, gesturing to their surroundings as his brow creases. "But so are you. What does it _mean_?"

As Dan looks at Phil with shimmering eyes, sad and afraid, Phil is left gaping at the question he’s expected to answer. Because ultimately, the honest answer is that Phil simply doesn’t know. There’s no explanation as to why Phil is here, no real reason as to why he’s trapped. It makes no logical sense that Phil is not only visible to Dan, but to the entire human race, and there’s not one simple explanation that Phil can think of to explain why Death had left Dan alone that day. The series of events leading up to their situation are nonsensical, but Phil’s brain still works to conjure up an answer that is both satisfying and true.

Phil takes Dan’s wrist into his hand and holds it still. Dan frowns until Phil takes his fingers and places them against Dan’s pulse, which beats steadily.

"I don't know what it means, Dan," Phil confesses, staring down at their hands. "But I know for a fact that you're still alive. You're still breathing. And everyone you love is still here with you.”

The rhythm of Dan’s pulse increases slightly when Phil looks back up at Dan’s eyes, which are wide and entirely awake. Dan opens his mouth to speak, but in the end he says nothing, allowing Phil to continue with his admission.

Sighing, Phil looks away once more. "Myself included."

The finality of his tone is enough to convey the message that Phil wants to deliver, so Dan slowly turns his head away, returning to his previous position on Phil’s shoulder. The rain slows to a steady trickle, clearing the view outside the window so that the heavy clouds and grey sky are in sight. Slivers of sunlight begin to peek out through the gathering of clouds, but despite these promises of sunny weather, Dan only shuffles closer to Phil.

Quietly, Dan whispers, “What’s your world like?”

Phil takes a moment to think about it, because although he has spent hundreds of years existing solely in one place, it feels too long since he has seen his home. Bittersweet emotions overtake Phil’s mind as he thinks about his apartment, his watchpost, and most importantly, PJ. Though he’s grown to love Earth for its rainy days and too-sweet coffee, Phil’s soul still aches for the stretch of violet sky and the company of his good friend.

“A bit like here,” Phil says, shrugging. He knocks Dan’s cheek with his shoulder as he does so and races to apologise, but Dan remains unmoved, listening intently. Phil continues, “It’s like a big city, but with no cars.”

Dan nods and closes his eyes as if dreaming up the image, and Phil follows suit. He imagines taking Dan to his watchpost, showing him Earth and all of its people through one giant ravine. Phil can perfectly envision the look of amazement that would grace Dan’s features, his eyes shining and mouth hanging open in quiet shock. There are so many things that Phil has experienced for the first time thanks to Dan, and his heart keens with the need to repay the favour.

“It’s a shame I’ll never see it,” Dan says gently, as if reading Phil’s mind.

Phil smiles sadly in silent agreement, staring wistfully upwards as the clouds begin to clear.

* * *

The third week is when things finally start to feel normal.

Phil is used to the feeling of nausea he gets every time he stands, and he’s used to experiencing the constant desire to sleep. It becomes an everyday occurrence to shiver in hot rooms and to feel blinded by the pain of a pounding headache. Even Dan adjusts to Phil’s abnormal state, providing glasses of water without being prompted and wordlessly leaving the room when it’s clear that Phil is fighting exhaustion. Though nothing about the situation is ideal, the two of them adapt, and finally Phil is ready to accept his fate.

But through his blurry haze and tired days, there is one fatal detail that Phil overlooks. There’s a factor in his life that denies normalcy, an unknown, external  force that craves the chaos of the abnormal, so there’s no reason to be surprised when everything changes all in a moment.

“Dan?” Phil says as they sit silently on Dan’s bed. Dan nods to show that he’s listening, but the tone of Phil’s voice is enough to cause Dan to chew on his lip nervously.

“Okay,” Phil whispers, sighing. He rubs his thumb gently across the bones of Dan’s fingers as he  prepares himself for his speech, even though the words have been at the back of his mind for a whole week now.

“I think it’s pretty clear to the both of us that I’m not doing great,” is Phil’s opening line, which earns a concerned frown from Dan. Still, Dan nods again, more awake now that Phil has broken the ice.

Phil takes it as a sign to continue. “And I just wanted to say—you know, before it’s too late—that you have no idea how good it’s been to spend my last few days with you. I mean, I still don’t know when my last day is,“ Phil rushes to say when Dan’s eyes widen, his brow creasing with worry before he relaxes again at Phil’s words.

“It’s just been really, really fun,” Phil continues. “It’s so weird that I’ve known you for so long and we’ve only met a month ago, but I’m glad we did. Even if it means that—well, you know.”

The fact that Phil doesn’t feel the need to cry at his own words is a miracle, but on the other hand, he’s past the point of denial. There’s no reason to cry when he has everything he needs right beside him, and in hindsight a small part of him feels _lucky_. Phil has lived for thousands of years, nineteen of which have involved Dan, but it’s the past month or so that has proved to be the most enjoyable.

“I’ve loved it too,” Dan admits hoarsely, playing with Phil’s fingers as he speaks. Phil is so used to the feel of Dan’s touch by now that although the action still makes his heart race, he’s at least able to keep a blush from painting his cheeks. “And I’m sorry that everything turned out like this for you. If I could, then I’d—“

“There’s nothing you could have done,” Phil says weakly, cutting him off. Dan’s mouth lingers open until he closes it reluctantly. “There’s nothing you _can_ do. All I want for you now is to live your life the way you would have if I were still here. Do you understand?”

The few seconds of silence that pass between them are excruciating. Eventually, Dan nods, careful and slow. Phil inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. Though there’s no legacy for Phil to leave behind, at the very least he can go with the knowledge that Dan will be safe.

As Dan looks timidly down at their interlocked fingers—Phil doesn’t remember when they’d done such a thing, but the feeling is soothing—Phil watches as Dan’s eyes calmly glaze over. He suddenly becomes aware of every mark on Dan’s face, from the freckles on his jaw to the dark circles painted beneath Dan’s eyes. In the back of Phil’s mind, a small voice begins to shout at him. He scowls at the nagging thoughts that threaten to spill over his lips, internally quietening them in case he’s convinced to say them out loud. But it’s hard for him not to imagine what would happen if he told Dan how he feels, so he lets himself pretend for just a moment.

He imagines telling Dan, in detail, exactly how it feels whenever Dan holds his hand. He imagines explaining that every embrace is a moment of freedom from the prison of Phil’s aching body, and that every smile from him is a sliver of sunlight amidst Phil’s clouded mind. He imagines pulling Dan close and kissing him, hard, letting Dan know how much he means every word he has said. And in the depths of Phil’s imagination, he imagines Dan kissing him back with just as much fervour.

Then, Phil imagines withering slowly away, Dan sobbing at the side of his deathbed. He imagines Dan begging him to stay, and him explaining through misty eyes that it’s too late for them now.

The image of Dan, broken and crying as the person he loves leaves him for the last time, is enough for Phil to stay silent.

“Can we shake on it, then?” Phil asks. He speaks quickly to forget what his imagination has just conjured, and he lets himself be distracted by the warmth of Dan’s hand, the one already entwined with his own.

Dan nods readily and extends his other hand. Phil reaches forward to do the same, desperate to make the deal that will put his mind to rest, but the brush of their fingers is interrupted by a voice that freezes Phil in place.

“A little formal, isn’t it?” PJ says from the corner room, a large grin plastered across his face.

Before PJ is even finished speaking, Phil whips around to face him, blinking rapidly to confirm that the image in front of him is indeed real. He searches for some form of entranceway that could have allowed PJ to enter without making a sound, even knowing that PJ has most likely travelled. When he finds no such entranceway, Phil gapes in astonishment, lowers his hand, and shakily gets to his feet despite his fragility.

PJ grins even wider before turning his gaze towards Dan, who sits gawping on the edge of his bed silently. “I would have thought you’d have advanced from handshakes by now, Phil,” PJ chides, waving casually at Dan in greeting whilst he speaks. Dan raises his own hand stiffly in acknowledgement, wide-eyed and still. “It’s been a long few weeks. How have you been?”

Phil shakes his head, astounded, before moving hesitantly towards PJ. “Peej,” he breathes, stepping forward and increasing in speed. When they collide and embrace, the force is so strong that it knocks the air out of PJ. “Is it really you?”

“The man himself,” PJ confesses, his voice muffled against the top of Phil’s head. He pats Phil’s back gently, pulling Phil closer until there’s no space between them, and from the bed Dan watches as the two of them stand chest to chest. “Come on, Phil. You can’t have expected me to sit quietly whilst you had all the fun, did you?”

“Never,” Phil says, releasing a soft sigh. They pull apart and look directly into the other’s face, wordless, before laughter overcomes them. As they laugh, Phil catches sight of the dark circles beneath his friend’s eyes and the unkemptness of his hair, and he tilts his head questioningly at the implications. The thought of PJ searching endlessly for him makes Phil’s gut churn with guilt, and his concern for PJ suddenly outweighs the joy of seeing his friend again.

Oblivious to Phil’s thoughts, PJ reaches over to squeeze his shoulder supportively. He turns Phil’s body to face the bed, where Dan sits staring at his nails with a stony expression. PJ removes his hand and clears his throat to attract both Phil’s and Dan’s attention.

“As lovely as it is to see you again, Phil, the three of us have some business to attend to,” PJ begins, pointing a slender finger towards Dan.

Dan’s eyebrows shoot up as he blinks curiously, but he remains silent, his hands now clasped stiffly around his knees so that his knuckles turn pale white.

Phil picks up on his nerves with a gentle smile, which Dan weakly returns. “With Dan, too?” Phil asks, keeping his voice low. PJ nods firmly, his bright eyes trained on Dan’s fidgeting hands, and he beckons him over with an open palm. Dan hesitantly unfolds his legs and approaches them.

Although PJ towers over Phil, he is much closer to Dan’s size, so the two of them stand eye to eye until PJ extends a welcoming hand.

“Good to finally meet you,” PJ says calmly. His large palm would look intimidating if not for his soft expression. “I’m PJ. I assume Phil never got around to mentioning me.”

Phil’s brow furrows and his mouth opens in protest, but Dan cuts him off with a slow shake of the head. “He mentioned you,” Dan croaks, seemingly unsure of how to respond. He grasps PJ’s hand and shakes it awkwardly before letting his arm drop by his side. “He called you a close friend.”

“So Phil _did_ take some time to think about me while he was gone. I’m flattered,” PJ laughs. Phil responds by attempting to shove PJ’s shoulder. However, his deteriorating health does nothing for his strength, so his attempt results in a gentle slap. PJ continues, “To tell you the truth, I wanted to speak with you alone, but now that the three of us are together, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

The twitch of Dan’s eyebrow implies that endless questions hang on his lips, but he nods wordlessly and allows PJ to continue. After weeks of absurdities, Dan is evidently done with searching for explanations.

PJ looks back and forth between Dan and Phil before exhaling steadily, folding his arms with deliberate slowness as he does so. He finally settles on staring down at the floor.

“I’ll be upfront with the two of you. The Elders had a little _talk_ with me, so to speak,” PJ says softly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “They said they’d caught wind of a Guardian who had taken it upon himself to watch over his human on Earth permanently, and found himself in a bit of trouble as a result. They said that it was my duty as an associate of him to retrieve him before it became trouble for everyone involved.”

Almost instantly Phil’s face hardens, though the mention of the Elders alone is enough to put him on edge. “So they threatened you?” Phil hisses as he stands up straighter. The idea of PJ being threatened by their superiors makes Phil see red, and the tone of his voice swiftly turns venomous.

Subtly, Dan paws at Phil’s elbow to calm him, forcing Phil to meet Dan’s gaze. Dan’s eyes plead with Phil to settle down, so he does, albeit reluctantly.

PJ catches sight of the interaction, but he makes no comment. “Yes and no,” he says, both shrugging and rubbing his forearms with poorly disguised fear. “I’ve actually been trying to contact you for a while, but the Elders have been hot on my trail. I didn’t want either of you getting into any bother, so I tried to be sneaky, but—well, you can see how well that turned out.”

With a snort, PJ gestures to his own tired face, his smile now forced and desperate. Phil empathises with PJ’s emotions; Phil is worryingly familiar with the crushing effects of failure.

“Either way, eventually they had me cornered,” PJ continues. He kicks at the ground in shame, and Phil acknowledges him with a sad frown. “They gave me no real choice: either return with Phil, or take the punishment for both of us.”

“Punishment?” Dan echoes, making both Phil and PJ look upwards at Dan’s frightened expression. The sound of Dan speaking up is unexpected, but after the initial surprise has passed, PJ acknowledges his words sombrely.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he grunts. He shifts on his feet, agitated, and grumbles beneath his breath. “You know, when Louise was missing for months at a time, none of the Elders did a damn thing. Maybe they finally learned their lesson.”

Dan glances at Phil, who shakes his head. “Or maybe it’s just revenge,” Dan suggests.

“You could be right,” PJ laughs, more because the situation is hopeless rather than humorous. “The Elders have never agreed with Phil’s methods. Phil’s done amazing to fight his corner all these years. You should really thank him for that.”

“He has,” Phil interrupts, his eyebrows creased together defensively.

PJ raises a hand in front of himself in silent surrender before folding his arms once again. Dan mirrors PJ’s position and waits, his lips red and raw from being bitten, until the three of them stand speechless in the centre of the room with no solutions to offer other than the obvious.

It’s PJ who eventually broaches the subject, hunched over and for the first time looking incredibly small. But he’s still the bravest of the three, so he faces Phil with determined eyes before reaching out to grab his arm, speaking the words that the other two daren’t speak.

“Phil,” PJ breathes, wetting his lips. “You have to come back. Today.”

Phil nods and looks straight ahead, too afraid of seeing Dan’s expression to turn his head. “I know,” he admits, rubbing his eyes with the back of his shaking hand. “But can’t it wait a few more hours? Dan and I—“

“ _No_ ,” PJ barks. His eyes widen when he realizes that he’s yelling, but Phil forgives him immediately. PJ lowers his voice and adds, “You’re too weak for this. I shouldn’t have let you convince me otherwise. The moment I saw that mark, I should have—“

“It’s fine, I get it,” Dan interrupts sharply. “For God’s sake, Phil, you’re slowly dying here. You should go as soon as you can.”

This time it’s Phil’s eyes that widen. Dan is staring down at the carpet, but the patch of face peeking through his hair is clearly turning red. His breathing is excessively regular, as if he’s manually controlling it, holding back emotions that he’s afraid for Phil to witness.

Phil raises a gentle hand to rub Dan’s back soothingly while PJ stands with pursed lips, contemplating the situation. When Dan looks up again, his expression is composed once more.

PJ remains silent for several more seconds before he takes a deep breath and gestures for Phil to stand back. “Listen to me, Dan. Let me make one thing clear to you.” PJ walks closer to Dan, whose eyebrows twitch with confusion at the sudden decrease in distance. Though PJ’s tone is stern, the compassionate gaze he offers is the opposite. “I will not let them separate you—no matter what it takes. As soon as Phil is well enough, I’ll do everything in my power to get you two back together again. Even if it means losing my own Guardianship.”

Dan blinks, mouth gaping. “PJ, you can’t—“

“Yes, I can,” PJ says, cutting him off abruptly. “My human is a lot older than you. He’s an adult, now—he doesn’t need me anymore. I hate the idea of being away from him, but I know being away from _you_ would be a living nightmare for Phil."

He punctuates the end of his sentence with a flick of the head towards Phil, who tries and fails to hide the blush that creeps across his cheeks. Still, the sentiment resonates enough with both Dan and Phil for the two of them to nod, unwilling to reject such a strong sacrifice. Inwardly Phil thanks PJ over and over, eternally grateful, but his thoughts don’t translate into words well enough for him to articulate them properly. In the end, he simply mouths the words “thank you” in PJ’s direction when their eyes meet.

PJ smiles sadly in silent response. "Okay, then," he says abruptly, clapping his hands together with false enthusiasm. When the mood doesn’t lighten, he allows his forced grin to fall, simultaneously softening the tone of his voice. "We should go."

"Right,” Phil breathes, clearing his throat a little when his voice cracks. “Yeah, right, of course. Dan?”

Dan’s stutters with several failed attempts at forming words before he strings together a coherent sentence. “You’re leaving?” is the question he decides on, playing with his hands so as to stop chewing on his nails.

Phil takes note of Dan’s glazed-over eyes and feels his stomach dip. “Yeah,” he replies, crushed. Any attempts at remaining composed are thwarted as he feels himself welling up on the inside, tears threatening to spill over as he meets Dan’s downtrodden gaze. “Yeah, I am.”

Dan nods slowly, as if he’s realised something difficult and daunting. As Dan worries his lip, Phil catches sight of Dan’s hands tugging erratically at the hem of his jumper. It takes a copious amount of self-control for Phil not to take Dan’s hands in his own and squeeze them until they’re still. He instead watches as Dan drags his hands away and uses one to nervously fix his hair before speaking unsurely.

“Will you come back?” is all that Dan asks.

In the thousands of years that Phil has existed, he’s certain that he’s never encountered a question so emotionally difficult to answer. At the same time, he’s never faced a question that he so desperately wished he had the answer to. Phil mindlessly clutches at his arms and feels the feeble skin beneath his fingertips, a cold reminder of his condition. His body is still weak, still suffering from endless days away from home, unable to adapt to the new environment he’s forced himself into. Could he come back? Would he be _allowed_ to come back? Had his body endured so much in the past few weeks, trying and failing to adapt to a world not made for a being like him, that returning even once more would be impossible?

For the first time, Phil is at a complete and utter loss. “I’ll try,” he croaks. The uncertainty with which he says it makes it sound like a lie.  “It might—it might be a while.”

Dan moves slowly at first, but the speed at which he moves increases by the second. He lunges at Phil and throws his arms around him, pulling him close in a bone-shattering hug. Phil’s left feeling dumbfounded, arms dangling uselessly at his sides as he tries to make sense of the situation. He feels almost crushed, smothered by Dan’s closeness, enveloped in an embrace that he neither wants nor intends to escape from. Beneath him, Dan’s body convulses with sobs as he clings to Phil, face buried in his chest, muffling the words he tries hopelessly to choke out.

“Please come back.” Dan’s voice is small and almost unintelligible, but Phil makes out the words clearly. Deep in his chest, he feels his heart clench, then shatter. Tears brim at Phil’s eyes, and his breaths become laboured in a last attempt at keeping his composure. He fails; opening his mouth to speak makes the tears fall harder, so he simply brings his arms around Dan’s waist to squeeze him even tighter.

It feels natural. It feels _right_. It feels like what they should have been doing all along, and Phil can’t think of a single reason as to why they hadn’t.

An eternity might have passed them by before Phil moves. It’s only a small movement; he threads his fingers through Dan’s hair and gently strokes his scalp, breathing deeply to calm both Dan and himself down as he does so. He swallows thickly, then he  gathers his thoughts and nods his head slowly.

“I promise,” Phil finally manages to whisper.

Dan pulls back to look at him, his chin resting weakly on Phil’s collarbone. Looking at Dan in that very moment feels very much like looking deep into Phil’s own, much-loved part of the universe. His mind is sent back to the days of watching Dan from afar, resigned to his fate of the boy who was his very own world never knowing or caring for his existence.

Being in Dan’s arms, thinking those thoughts, and not knowing how long it will be before they will meet again gives Phil the courage to speak his mind. “No matter how long it takes.”

Behind them, PJ clears his throat. Phil doesn’t take his eyes off Dan for even a second, so he has no idea if PJ is rushed for time, or if he’s crying, too.

“Ready to go?” PJ asks.

 _No_ , Phil thinks. “Yeah,” is what he says instead.

Before Phil can pull back, Dan loops his arms around Phil’s neck to stop him from looking away. Phil watches Dan’s gaze flick at lightning speed between his eyes and his lips, a strange mix of confidence and apprehension plastered across his face. There’s a split-second where everything stops. A million thoughts racing through Phil’s mind, but they are immediately cut off by Dan leaning up on his tiptoes to press a chaste, nervous kiss to Phil’s lips.

It’s passionate without being heated or clumsy, meaningful without saying too much, and everything that Phil had ever dreamed it would be.

Dan’s face is beet red when he finally lets go. “Sorry,” he breathes, arms dropping to his sides, as if Phil is scalding hot.

Phil shakes his head fervently, leaning forward to caress Dan’s smooth cheek and softly stroke his thumb along Dan’s jaw.  Without saying a word, he bends down to capture Dan’s mouth again, and he prays to every deity known to man that Dan understands.

It’s PJ who eventually pulls them apart, face downcast and expression reluctant. Phil squeezes his hand tightly to show that, for now, it’s all right.

The two of them take a few steps backwards, allowing Phil and Dan to look directly into each other’s eyes for the last time in what could be forever. It’s far too reminiscent of the first time Phil had left Dan alone all those weeks ago, saying good bye with no inkling as to what the future held for them. This thought alone is enough for Phil to decide on his parting words, even though thinking about parting is like a stab in Phil’s gut.

Phil takes a deep breath and smiles forcefully. “I’ll see you around?” he says, his voice wavering.

Dan’s eyes shoot open before he mirrors Phil’s expression, his own smile weak. “Probably,” he replies eventually, raising his hand in a stiff wave that tugs at Phil’s heart. There’s little time to think about the bittersweetness of it all before PJ slings an arm around Phil’s shoulder, pulling him close to ensure that they travel together.

Phil fights the urge to cry once more. He holds on to his composure just long enough to see Dan fade into darkness in front of him, until finally the image becomes a misty blur.


	9. Chapter 9

The months without him are, for lack of a better word, complete and utter Hell.

For Dan, it’s not particularly the waiting that he considers the difficult part. Seven days between visits had seemed a ridiculously long time to wait in the past, but when a another week passes and Phil doesn’t make an appearance, Dan quickly accepts this new reality.

Perhaps waiting would be harder if Dan were not so busy, but moving into university only days later means that he has little time to muse over the whereabouts of his Guardian, let alone when he would return. Still, it’s a lie to say that Dan doesn’t think about the wait. Thoughts of Phil arise in the silence of his student halls after a long day of lectures, Dan’s mind inevitably wandering to the image of pale skin against jet black hair. His heart quickens at the thought.

After three weeks of impatient waiting, Dan breaks and makes the picture that they had taken together his phone wallpaper. Though the sight of their smiling faces is a punch to Dan’s gut, he meets it with a painful smile. It’s a gentle reminder that Phil had been real—that Phil _is_ real, that Phil exists not just in Dan’s mind—and it brings comfort on the rainy nights that Dan spends with his window open just a crack.

And as the sound of rain pelting against concrete sends him to sleep, Dan comes to a single conclusion: Time, he muses, means very little when you’re waiting. Anticipation turns minutes into hours, and feelings of joy can pass in a microsecond. After a month at university he rips down the calendar from his wall and attempts to hide his wristwatch in the bottom of his wardrobe, so that neither can taunt him any longer. The wait becomes easier when he focuses less on the days and more on the payoff of Phil’s return, and soon thoughts of Phil become less frequent, and more hopeful.

But despite his best efforts, Dan is still lonely. The void that Phil had filled is vacant once more, and the deep hole left in his place is obvious and painful. Dan’s moments of strength are uplifting but rare, and neither family nor housemates can pull him from the thick tar that encases him. Long assignments and group projects are a welcome distraction from his misery, but his contributions are lifeless and his enthusiasm limited, resulting in failing modules and an overwhelming distaste for law. Thoughts of dropping out cloud his mind, skipping seminars becomes a regular occurrence, and Dan easily accepts that his life is nothing more than a downward spiral.

“You can’t keep sulking, you know,” his mother chides on the other end of the line, the sound of Dan’s father and brother bustling around the kitchen filling the silence behind her. Dan tuts into his mobile to restrain himself from making a bitter remark, hiking his bag further up his shoulder as he walks. “I know your degree is difficult, sweetheart, but that’s why it’s such a good job to have. Can’t any of your friends help you?”

Dan’s walking pace gradually slows down, and he swallows. _Friends_. As of his third month of university, his grand total of friends still amounts to zero. Wallowing in self-pity has done very little for his approachability.  

“No, Mum,” he groans, readjusting the mobile wedged between his jaw and shoulder. “No one in my house is even doing law. They’re all busy with their own work, anyway,” he adds, scowling when the wind blows so hard that it renders his hairspray useless. He brings his free hand to his hair and ruffles it. All the while, his mother continues to talk, oblivious to his distractions.

“—could at least have a look, dear. Could you maybe try a little harder before you decide to come home?”

Dan grimaces. Though law is unbearable to think about, returning home after months of independent living is even less preferable.

“I think I’ve tried hard enough, Mum,” he grumbles and grinds to a halt when he reaches the pelican crossing. As he stands with folded arms, waiting impatiently for the sign to turn green, a roll of thunder cracks. He squints upwards at the sky and notices thick grey clouds looming above him, threatening to drench him at any given moment. He glares down at his shirt and jeans and inwardly curses himself for his unwillingness to wear coats in Autumn.

“I’m ready to come back now,” he says when the light finally turns green, jogging lightly across the street to avoid the inevitable soaking. “I don’t think university is right for me. Maybe one of Dad’s friends has a boring office job going free.”

On the other end of the phone, Dan hears his mother sigh, and his father mumble something incomprehensible. “Well, if you think that’s best, sweetheart,” his mother replies, defeated. “But I do think you should stick it out one more month. Can you do that for me?”

Resisting to urge to scoff is difficult, but he does, because it’s better than a ‘no.’ “I’ll give it a go,” Dan says back, just as a speck of rain hits him on the cheek. He flinches, pulls his arms closer around himself for warmth, and jogs a little faster. “Anyway, I’m hanging up now. It’s about to chuck it down and I’m still twenty minutes away from my flat.”

“All right, dear,” his mother says cheerily. “Stay safe, and we’ll talk again soon. I love you.”

“Love you.”

Dan hangs up, and his phone’s screen briefly flashes the image of Phil and himself before he locks it and puts it away. After three months of waiting Dan is almost immune to the feelings the photo brings, though he still looks at it fondly whenever it’s needed. Today has been one of those times—Dan had for once made the effort to attend a seminar, but the embarrassment of walking in an hour late had been too crushing to follow through, so he’d settled for coffee and a phone call home to give the journey some purpose. But the oversight of bringing neither a coat nor an umbrella is enough to make him wish he’d never gotten out of bed at all, especially as the rain increases in speed and volume by the second.

Another clap of thunder breaks, and pedestrians immediately overtake Dan, running by him to find shelter. He raises his bag above his head as a makeshift umbrella, walking at a leisurely pace despite the cold. Goosebumps begin to form on his arms now that they aren’t folded around his body for warmth, and slowly he begins to realise that thunderstorms are much less fun when you’re alone.

The feeling of pressure beneath the sole of Dan’s foot abruptly cuts off the natural progression of his thoughts. His entire foot covers the length of it, so he curiously presses down once more to judge its feel. It’s somehow both solid and squishy, but it’s most definitely not something living, so Dan breathes a sigh of relief as he crouches down on the pavement to look closer, abandoning his bag a few steps behind him despite the rain.

The first obvious fact is that the item is a book. It’s small in size and encased in smooth, black leather, though the outside is muddied a little from the bottom of Dan’s shoe. Dan flips it over to observe the front, which is embellished with delicate, silver writing, reading: ‘ _The Holy Book of Hymns, Songs, and Other Faithful Poetry.’_  For good measure he opens the book and looks inside, where pencilled lettering adorns the first page: ‘ _Property of the Holy Name Church. If found, please return to the address below._ ’

When he cranes his neck to the left, Dan notices the towering church beside him, Victorian in style and seemingly empty. He approaches its wooden door and grasps the doorknob loosely, letting his hand linger for a moment. A nagging voice bites at him from the back of his mind, questioning his motives; after all, there are questions that have plagued Dan’s thoughts since the day of Phil’s disappearance that his own mind can’t explain.

Twisting the doorknob, Dan frowns and quiets the voice easily, though the idea that perhaps this is some form of sign is still prominent in Dan’s mind.

“Hello?” Dan shouts when he walks inside, glancing around with one hand still held firmly against the door. He lets the door slam shut behind him as he takes several tentative steps forward, the hymn book still clutched in his hand. Every step he takes sounds like a gunshot in the quietness of the church, so he abandons the book on the nearest shelf in order to avoid drawing attention to himself.

With his curiosity peaked, Dan strolls down the length of the church and takes note of the ceiling’s height. It reaches upwards to the heavens, like a bridge to the sky that Dan wishes he could reach up and touch. The rows of pews that stretch from either end of the room catch his attention as he passes them, each one with a green pillows placed delicately atop it, and he takes refuge on one.  Now that he’s seated the chilliness of the room is more apparent, but it’s atmospheric and poetic in a way that Dan finds enticing. Though he’s never really appreciated a church for its symbolic value, the exquisiteness of its structure and the vast emptiness of the room calms him somehow.

“Hello, son,” Dan suddenly hears from in front of him. His head snaps up to see a woman—small, plump and friendly looking—greeting him with a gentle smile. Dan stammers, standing up immediately, as if caught in some criminal act. He waves his hands until they find sanctuary in his jean pockets, searching for the words to explain himself.

“Hi,” he blurts out after a moment. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here.”

The woman's grin doesn't falter. Rather, she walks further forward until she reaches his seat.  Upon closer inspection, Dan can see that she’s much younger than he’d assumed her to be from afar, though her blonde hair is tinted with hints of grey at the sides and her honey eyes are tired.

“That’s all right,” she replies, unfazed. “What brings you here today?”

Although he considers telling the truth, Dan can't think of a way to say it without sounding unbelievable. He supposes that it wouldn't be the first time that a member of the church had heard about someone meeting an angel, but he'd rather not risk it, for fear of judgement.

“Nothing in particular,” he croaks instead. He wracks his brain for a plausible excuse. “It just seemed—I don’t know. It’s a nice building.”

The woman nods readily, though it’s not clear whether she actually believes him or not. “It is indeed,” she says, and as she speaks her eyes sweep over Dan’s rain-drenched body as if pitying him. It doesn't help that he looks nothing short of miserable, like a starving animal caught in a thunderstorm. “Were you perhaps needing somewhere to stay tonight?”

“Oh, no. No, not at all, I’m not—“ Dan stutters, his eyes widening. After a few more flustered moments he takes a breath and allows his thoughts to align into two coherent sentences. “No, thank you. I should go home, actually.”

“Pardon my manners. I’m Reverend Sarah Matthews. Can I at least tempt you with some tea before you go?” the Reverend asks, motioning behind her to what Dan assumes to be the door to the kitchen.

The promise of a hot drink after wandering in the freezing wind and rain is enticing, so Dan finds himself unconsciously nodding and sitting back down on the edge of the pew. “That’d be really nice, thanks,” he says, still sounding unsure despite his choice of words. “And I’m Dan. Sorry for the trouble.”

The Reverend’s smile grows wider, and she shakes her head a little too enthusiastically. “No trouble at all,” she replies, her voice pitched significantly higher. “You wait right here, Dan. I’ll be back in a tic.”

‘A tic’ ends up being five minutes, give or take. Dan spends his time counting the cracks in the floor and wondering how many pairs of feet have walked through the room he’s currently sitting in, what tribulations they have faced and whether or not they've found the solutions. His questions remain unanswered, though, so Dan approaches the various stained glass windows towering over him. With no light to shine through them due to the weather, the colours and designs appear dull and unimpressive.

Dan’s musings are disrupted by Reverend Matthew’s head popping almost comedically around the corner of the door. She searches for him with her eyes and brightens up immediately when she's assured that Dan is still there.

“Dan?” she chirps far too loudly, her voice echoing through the room from the floor to the ceiling. He turns around to face her and forces a polite smile. “Would you like to come in here? I promise the chairs are a lot comfier.”

“Yeah, all right,” is Dan’s response. He has no real preference, but the church _is_ sinfully cold, especially since he has no coat or jacket to stave off the chill. He plods silently over to the kitchen door where the Reverend waits, his shoes slapping loudly against the church floor.

Once inside the kitchen, Dan settles down on a threadbare chair with an old, coffee-stained pillow tied to its seat. Shifting from left to right proves that it’s no more comfortable than the pews are.

Reverend Matthews settles down opposite him, humming a vaguely recognisable hymn from Dan’s childhood as she does so, and she reaches forward to hand Dan his drink. “Here we are,” she begins happily, her laugh lines deepening with every word. “Nice and hot for you.”

“Thank you so much,” Dan replies, taking the mug from her hands. He raises it to his lips and sips, the warm liquid heating his insides and calming his rampant thoughts.

The two are silent for several moments as Dan kicks at the tiled floor absentmindedly, searching deep into his brain for appropriate conversation points. He hadn’t accounted for the possibility of encountering anyone inside when he’d entered, hoping to be left alone to wallow in his own self-pity. Forcing conversation had definitely not made its way on to his to-do list.

But the Reverend’s shining eyes are burning as she stares at him, so he decides to take the safe, generic conversational route. “I’ve never been in here before,” he says. “It’s a lot smaller on the inside.”

“Isn’t it?” the Reverend says back. “I thought the same when I first moved here. Do you not go to church often?”

Dan shakes his head, eyes focused on the rotting wood of the table. “No, never,” he responds, shrugging to emphasise his point. “It’s not really something I think about, to be honest.”

“There’s always time,” Reverend Matthews says. Dan’s eyes flick up in time to watch as she reaches under her chair and pulls out a Bible, tattered and clearly well-used. He feels his brow furrow on its own, wondering if the Reverend had planted the book there, or if she simply has strange habits when it comes to storing her possessions. “

Would you like one?” the Reverend continues, offering the book. “ It’s helped me through many rough patches before.”

“I’m really okay,” Dan insists a little too defensively, raising his hands in front of his chest. The Reverend’s expression doesn’t falter, but it quickly registers in Dan’s mind how inconsiderate the action may have been. He makes a sorry attempt at saving himself from judgement. “Not to be rude, but I’m not really religious. I guess it was impolite of me to just walk in here like that.”

Reverend Matthews shakes her head and smiles. “Forgive me, I didn’t intend to sound pushy. Well, feel free to take one if you’d like.” She places the book back under her chair before warming her hands with her mug of tea. Her forehead creases and her gaze softens as she watches Dan pick at his nails, his eyes trained back on the table. “Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like to ask me? You seem troubled.”

Dan’s eyes shoot up again to meet her concerned expression. “Really, I’m not—“

“It doesn’t have to be religious, Dan. Anything is fine.”

Unsubtly, Dan clears his throat. The opportunity is there. He takes a quick glance at the Reverend and calculates all the possible outcomes of him relaying the truth behind his visit.

“I suppose—“ he starts. Reverend Matthew’s face somehow manages to light up even further at the first sign of Dan’s resistance crumbling. “I suppose there is one thing I’d like to ask.”

“Ask away,” she says.

Dan breathes and readies himself. “Is there any way of—of talking to angels?” he queries, pointedly looking away from the Reverend’s face out of fear of her reaction. “You know, like, through prayer and stuff.”

He’d expected some hesitation, but the Reverend’s response is almost immediate. “Of course, Dan. God is a very busy man. That’s why angels carry out so much of His work.” She says this simply, as if the answer is basic knowledge. Dan feels his face twitch at the information, and he attempts to process what it means for him. “Is there any reason why this was troubling you?”

“Not really,” Dan lies. It’s very clear from the Reverend’s furrowed brow that he doesn’t get away with it, so he continues, “I don’t believe in God. But I believe in angels. Is that weird?”

Reverend Matthews shakes her head. She removes her hands from her tea and laces her fingers together in front of her, her elbows resting firmly on the table. “It’s not my place to tell you what to believe, Dan. But many people believe in guardian angels, even those who don’t believe in anything else. Do you?”

The answer is obvious, but Dan still takes a moment to think about it. Even after spending months with Phil – an _actual_ angel, who has proven himself more times than one – the answer is difficult to admit even to himself.

“Yeah, I do,” he finally affirms, his voice hushed.

She nods. “Why is that?”

“I think I saw one.”

The silence is brief, but to Dan it’s smothering. He tries to distract himself from the conversation, to detach himself from the things he’s claiming, by focusing intently on the sound of the tap dripping irregularly behind him.

“Is that so?” the Reverend eventually says.

“Yeah,” Dan confirms, defeated. He tries to mirror the Reverend’s position, elbows planted on the table, but he drops his face into his hands and sighs. “I don't know. I know that sounds a bit mad.”

Reverend Matthews talks as though she hasn’t heard him. “And you were hoping to contact this angel in some way.”

It should be a question, but rather, it’s a statement. Dan supposes he’s too transparent at this point, a non-believer caught between faith and logic. It can’t be the first time the Reverend has witnessed such a dilemma.

“I guess so.” Dan lifts his head up from his hands steadily. He meets the Reverend’s eyes and is surprised to find that her fixed grin is gone. In actuality, her face is entirely expressionless. “Is it hopeless?”

Dan manages to surprise himself with his own question before he even finished asking it. The truth of the matter is that, in reality, Dan knows that he could contact Phil if he truly wanted to. He has little understanding of angels and their methods, no way of knowing if Phil _really_ spends day-in, day-out watching him without interruption, but from the little data he has—from Phil’s anecdotes and the conversation with PJ that feels so long ago—it isn’t far-fetched of Dan to assume that a large portion of Phil’s day is spent observing him. If his only desire is to relay a message to Phil, then thinking out loud in the quiet of his room would suffice.

Besides, any message he’d hope for Phil to receive is most likely already understood. Dan’s done nothing but mope for weeks, full nights spent crying and days of work and university purposely missed. There’s nothing Dan could tell Phil that Phil can’t already know by now: _I miss you. I wish I could see you. I think I might really, really like you._

The truth of the matter is that just contacting Phil isn’t enough. The truth of the matter is that Dan wants to bring him home—to _his_ home.

“No, Dan.” Reverend Matthews professes confidently, wrenching Dan back to reality. “Nothing is hopeless if you have faith in it.”

Her tone has a hint of finality in it, so Dan stops himself from saying anything more. There's an unknown weight to her statement that clamps his mouth shut.

Dan certainly doesn’t have faith in the religious sense, not even after meeting Phil and being assured of his abilities. To ask him to have faith is a difficult request.

But it’s undeniable to Dan that Phil had been real. Phil had existed. Phil had appeared before his very eyes in his room all those months ago and made him feel loved. Made him feel _wanted_. Dan doesn’t have faith in God, but he does have faith in that. He has faith in Phil.

Dan stands rather abruptly and downs the last of his tea in one forceful gulp. “Thank you for the tea, Reverend.”

If Reverend Matthews appears startled, she doesn’t allow her face to show it. Instead, she brings her own drink to her lips, swallows, and places the cup back on the table with a soft _clank_. “You’re very welcome.”

While Dan checks his pockets for his phone and wallet, Reverend Matthews picks up his discarded mug and moves it pointedly to the empty sink. The tap’s dripping has increased in speed, causing an endless stream of droplets to fall then combust on impact with the sink in rapid succession. The Reverend notices and twists the tap handle, prompting the water to rush out in a steady flow over Dan’s empty mug.

“Did I answer everything you needed today?” she asks, shouting a little over the noise.

Dan pauses suddenly. He runs his hands down his jeans with what looks like nerves, but the truth is simply that the strength of the adrenaline running through his veins drives the skin of his palms to tingle.

“Yeah, I think so.”

The Reverend’s face returns to its natural resting expression: a knowing smile. “Then I hope to see you again sometime.”

Dan exhales through his nose in a half-laugh, impressed. Even with all that Dan has said in their short time together, it’s clear that the Reverend has determination. “I can’t really see myself coming back here, Reverend, sorry. But thanks again.”

Neither of them are surprised by his answer. Reverend Matthews walks Dan to the door and holds it open for him. The rain has stopped, and the air is much clearer than it had been before. Much lighter. The clouds have begun to clear as well, and the greyness of the sky is beginning to meld back into soft blue.

“Take care,” the Reverend says cheerily when Dan walks outside.

Dan offers her a confident smile in response before walking with newfound energy to the gate. His hand lingers over the latch for a brief moment before he’s stopped in his tracks once more.

“Dan?” he hears from behind him; Dan turns to look over his shoulder at Reverend Matthews, who’s still standing with the door wide open, unmoved.

The Reverend continues, “I appreciate that it’s not God that you’re looking for. But whatever you _are_ looking for, I certainly that hope you find it.” With her piece spoken, Reverend Matthews pulls the door shut with a heavy _clunk_.

Dan’s left with little time to think about what’s been said before he sees his bus home pulling slowly into the nearby stop.

* * *

If university life is utter Hell, then taking the rare trip home to Wokingham is eternal damnation.

Dan crushes the clothes piled up inside his travel bag with his palm, his other hand trying desperately to zip the bag shut. As he grunts and pulls, the sound of his parents arguing carries from the kitchen to his bedroom, driving him to the edge almost as much as knowing that he’s very close to missing his train to Manchester is. With one final tug he seals the bag shut, exhaling with relief as he does so, and he flops backwards onto his bed to stare up at the pristine white of his ceiling.

The decision to come home had been a reluctant one. After all, finding a university as far from home as possible had been Dan’s number one priority when searching for a place to study, and Manchester is far enough that it renders frequent visits home almost impossible. But Dan ensures to return home at least once every two months, albeit unwillingly, and with all the dirty laundry he’s not yet learned to wash properly.

Naturally, this means that transporting such a heavy load back to Manchester has its difficulties. Dan’s cheeks are flushed red with exertion, as are the pads of his fingers from pulling too roughly on the zip of his bag. Still, at least his clothes have finally been crammed into place.

Huffing, Dan shoves the bag off the end of his bed and cracks the tension from his knuckles. He takes one final glance around his bedroom, now almost entirely bare since he had moved away, and he’s hit with a twinge of nostalgia even though it’s been barely a few months since he’d first left. The DVDs and games which had once cluttered his shelves have now been boxed away; no clothes hang in his wardrobe; and, most importantly, the band posters that once adorned his walls have been unlovingly torn down. Obvious marks from tacks and tape show where they had once lived for years, and Dan takes a moment to mourn the loss of his teenage years. Too many memories have been made in this small room for Dan to forget them so easily.

His job finished, Dan spreads out on his bed and stretches, shivering as his bones pop back into place. Being at home does have one other advantage: his bedroom here is much larger, as is his bed, so Dan plans on taking advantage of this luxury for the last time before returning to Manchester. Dan buries his face into his pillow and sighs, the feeling of soft sheets beneath his tired body acting as sweet relief. He calculates in his head whether there’s time for a nap before leaving, but the endless ticking of his wall clock lulls him to sleep before he can reach a conclusion.

It’s only a nap, so Dan doesn’t dream. Instead, his mind goes to a place that’s empty and serene, solid darkness, where everything is calm and nothing holds significance. But in the depths of his consciousness he hears distorted voices, echoing from every side of his brain and coaxing him in, so Dan strains to listen harder.

Dan has heard once before that it’s not uncommon to hear unknown whispering when a person’s consciousness drifts, the lines between reality and the depths of one’s mind blurring until there’s no clear distinction between the two. Yet something about their tone peaks his curiosity; the voices murmur rather than speak, and even though they don’t seem to form words there’s a part of Dan that somehow grasps their meaning. He knows it’s a group without even seeing them, because their voices resound like a choir, but there’s one voice in the crowd that stands out amongst the rest. It seems to respond to every word the group says, protesting or pleading in a way that sounds familiar.

As Dan tries to single out the voice and focus on what it says in its desperation, he swears that he hears the name ‘Dan’ being repeated over and over again, until it’s nothing more than a wretched plea.

“ _Dan_?” his mother shouts. Dan’s eyes shoot open to be met with his mother’s stern scowl. She hovers over him with her hands placed firmly on her hips.

Dan breathes a sigh of relief now that he’s been wrenched back into reality, though the feeling of unsettlement lies unmoved in his gut. As a chill runs through his body he reaches up to touch his forehead, now thinly lined with a veil of cold sweat, and he stares inquisitively at his now drenched fingertips.

“Is it time to go?” Dan asks groggily, pushing himself into a sitting position. He rubs tiredly at his eyes with one hand and stifles a yawn with the other before looking up at his mother. His vision is cloudy, but Dan can still make out the sight of her harsh frown.

 _“_ Yes _,”_ is her reply, her voice flat. “For goodness sake, dear, your Dad and I have been shouting at you for ages. We thought you were comatose.”

Dan blinks and straightens his back with false alertness. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he says, though the drowsiness in his voice voice and his half-closed eyes do little to support his argument. “I was just—resting my eyes. My bag’s all packed.”

His mother tuts, unconvinced. “Well, hurry up and take it downstairs,” she says, ushering him to his feet. “Your train is in ten minutes. Your Dad has been called into work all of a sudden, so I’m driving you today.”

“Great, thanks,” Dan replies, reaching down to pick up his bag. With some effort he manages to drag it through his bedroom door and down the stairs, each _bang_ against the wooden steps earning a displeased glance from his mother, who trails behind him with one hand pressed firmly against his back. When he reaches the kitchen on his way out of the house, he finds that it’s empty. His father and brother have gone, and a familiar feeling of hurt shoots through Dan’s chest at the lack of good-bye. Still, he shakes the feeling off with a sigh and returns to dragging his bag outside, to the open boot of his tiny, much-loved car.

His mother waits beside it, running a lone finger across the red paintwork and leaving a long track in the dust. She presents her dirt-stained fingertip beneath Dan’s nose, and he scowls and throws his bag into the boot before reaching up to slam it closed. When he pulls his hand away, he finds his palm sullied with dust. A matching hand-print shows against the body of his car.

“You need to get that cleaned,” his mother scolds, brushing her palms together.

Dan ignores her, since there’s little point in arguing when he won’t be home again in a while. So he walks around to the front of the car and sits in the front seat, his arms folded. His mother follows around the other side, clambering into the driver’s seat and pulling the door closed before adjusting the rear-view mirror.

“All right,” she says after a moment, taking a second to check her reflection in the mirror. “Do you have everything?”

“Yes,” Dan says absentmindedly, pulling his seatbelt across his torso and clicking it in place.

“You have your law books?”

“Yes.”

“And your clean clothes?”

“ _Yes_.”

“And did you call your friend back this morning?”

Dan freezes just as he reaches into his pocket, one hand clasped firmly around his phone. He tilts his head and desperately considers what his mother could mean—he has no friends to call anymore, and there’s definitely no one at university waiting for his return. There’s not a single person in Dan’s life that he can think of who would take the time to call him, let alone ask for him to call back.

“What?” he asks. He lets his phone drop back into his pocket and turns to properly face his mother, who is adjusting her seat and her hair all at once.

“Your friend,” she repeats. “He rang the house this morning, but you were still sleeping. Your Dad answered and said you’d call him back. I suppose he forgot to tell you.”

“ _Which_ friend?” Dan probes, restless. Though he knows it’s impossible and that he’s setting himself up for disappointment, his heart still beats threefold at the possibility of _maybe_. “Did he say who it was?”

“Calm down, sweetheart, I’m sure your friend won’t mind,” his mother says. She puts the car into gear and starts the engine, looking left and right before pulling out on to the road. Meanwhile, Dan fumbles and shakes with both frustration and anticipation. It’s only when he catches himself in the wing mirror that he sees his lips are bleeding from the force he’s biting them with, too numbed from the pain to feel anything. His pupils are dilated from pure adrenaline.

“Oh! I remember now,” she starts when they reach the traffic lights, grinding the car to a halt. Dan’s head whips round to face her, even though she’s focused on the road with no inclination that her son is dangerously close to hyperventilating.

“If I remember rightly, I think he said it was your friend Phil.”

The lights turn green, and the car moves forward. Dan’s mother turns on the radio and absentmindedly flicks through stations for the following few minutes, and Dan spends the rest of the journey in silence.

* * *

The radio fills the silence after his mother’s revelation. Although Dan tries to occupy himself with music and his phone and anything other than thoughts of Phil, the sudden bomb of information clouds his mind too much for distraction to help. The feeling of fire in Dan’s veins makes him flushed and restless, but his desperate need to confirm what he’s been told is overwhelming enough to dull the burning sensation in his body. He wraps his arms tightly around himself despite how warm the car has become, and he rests his forehead against the window, exhausted.

When the car pulls up at the train station, Dan speaks up before his mother can even remove her seatbelt.

"Mum?" he asks. His voice trembles a little as if he’s about to cry, but the reality is simply that his throat is too tight to sound coherent.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Dan exhales and faces his mother, who stares back at him with an oblivious smile. He asks, "Is it true that when I was born, Dad kept waffling on about missing _Match of The Day_?"

"Oh, absolutely," she laughs. Dan remains unmoved. "It was only when he held you in his arms for the first time that he finally shut up about it. He was speechless, then." Her eyes soften, and, in turn, so do Dan’s.

"Why do you ask?" she says when the moment passes, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching to the back seat to pick up her hand bag.

Dan blinks himself awake and asks himself the same question. "No reason,” he eventually replies, undoing his own seatbelt with a sigh. He retrieves his bag, kisses his mother good-bye, and makes a mental note to call his father when neither are busy.

The station is crowded, and the train carriage even more so. Strangers’ elbows connect with Dan’s every body part, and his heavy bag occupies more room than Dan does himself, but the unfamiliar surroundings feel like escape when compared to the confines of his bedroom in Wokingham. For the first time in Dan’s life his fear of crowds remains dormant, because obsessively checking the time on his phone results in flashes of Phil’s smiling face, calming Dan’s rampant nerves.

The comfort of knowing that Phil is guarding him keeps him steady, but the knowledge that Phil is undoubtedly okay brings him relief.

When Dan reaches Manchester, he rushes through the thick crowds and to the closest taxi, even though his arms ache from the strain of dragging his hefty luggage. He repeats the directions to his home three times before the driver makes sense of his breathless rambling, and the time between setting off and pulling up outside his home passes like a countdown in Dan’s mind, his heartbeat increasing in speed with every small yard they travel. His hands tremble as he hands the fare over to the driver, and a shaky ‘Thanks’ escaping his lips. Then, Dan runs to his student flat as quickly as his belongings will allow.

He bursts into his bedroom with so much force that the door frame shakes. His eyes scour the room at lightning speed, checking every corner and surface for some form of life. But the room remains empty, occupied only by his unmade covers and overflowing rubbish bin, and Dan’s feels a weight drop from his chest to his stomach. His expectations dashed, he walks silently over to his bed and perches on the end of it. He drops his head into his hands and sighs.

 _Of course,_ Dan thinks to himself, his nails digging into his skin as if to punish him for his desperation. _Why would he be here? If he could meet me he would have done it by now. What was I expecting?_

 _Not much_ , Dan answers himself. After all, he’s past the point of setting expectations for his life: university had been a failed endeavour, and any expectations he’d had about his gap year had been appropriately dashed, too.

Dan had never expected to be the victim of mugging, nor had he expected to survive being attacked. He had never expected to see an angel hovering over his hospital bed, let alone meet that same angel only weeks later. He had certainly never expected to get _feelings_ for a supernatural being, and he should never have expected those feelings to have worked out in the end.

If there’s anything that Dan knows he’s proven in his time on Earth, it’s the fact that life very rarely meets his expectations. So no amount of expectation could have prepared him for the sound of floorboards creaking behind him, the feeling of large hands grasping him and securing him in place, and the sudden darkness that envelops his vision turning his entire world black. 


	10. Chapter 10

There are many things in the ethereal world that are unknown to its inhabitants. Phil has often wondered why angels are so similar in appearance to their human counterparts, how the hierarchy of angels came to be, and especially what secrets the Elders keep hidden in their grand quarters.

These questions remain unanswered despite Phil’s curiosity, and although this denial of knowledge was once grating to his core, Phil finds himself increasingly uninterested in the secrets of a world that he no longer has any desire to stay in.

When he reaches the last step in to the grand hall, Phil relaxes his entire body, resisting the urge to collapse outside the council room where the Elders reside. Even at the top of the almost endless staircase, the building towers above him, surrounded by marble walls adorned with gold finish, and if Phil weren’t entirely breathless he would scoff at the needless extravagance of it all. He turns to look at the view beneath him, the top of every apartment building in plain sight, and the feeling of vertigo that strikes his stomach quickly melds into nausea.

PJ staggers up the stairs behind him, murmuring something incomprehensible that sounds like a question when he reaches the top, and Phil acknowledges him with a perplexed frown.

“What?” he asks.

PJ crouches, gasping for air, prompting Phil to snort a little at his friend’s theatrics.

“I _said_ ,” PJ breathes, his fingers clasped so tightly around his knees that the skin of his knuckles are entirely white. He glances upwards to meet Phil’s eye. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

Phil purses his lips momentarily and shrugs. “Not really,” he starts, before scrunching up his face and correcting himself. “I mean, no, it probably won’t. Doesn’t hurt to try, though, does it?”

PJ’s brow creases, but he doesn’t protest any further. “I guess not,” he replies, pushing himself into a standing position.

Phil reaches over to squeeze PJ’s shoulder before letting his arm drop lifelessly to his side. His own chest rises and falls just as heavily, but there’s more pressing matters to think about than how far the two of them have climbed to reach their destination. After all, there are reasons why reaching the Elders’ council is so difficult. If you really want something, then you have to work for it, or so the Elders would say.

“Or maybe it does,” Phil says, sighing. Having not been called to meet with the Elders even once since his return despite their urgency to hurry him home, he’s finished with trying to understand how they work. “I don’t know. If they were going to punish me just for hanging around Earth for too long, then I can’t imagine they’ll take too kindly to this either.”

In the pause that follows, PJ shuffles awkwardly from side to side, unsure of where to rest his feet. His hands fidget so much that it strikes unease within Phil’s gut.

“So you’re definitely doing it?” PJ eventually asks, avoiding Phil’s line of sight.

Phil raises his arms outwards, open-palmed, and gestures at the world around them. The council meeting hall towers above them, save for the hundreds of stone steps that they have been forced to climb, nothing more than thick walls and a large golden door acting as the barrier to the inside.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Phil says weakly. His nerves are too strong for him to stop his voice from shaking a little, and he’s overbearingly compelled to turn back and run away, but he keeps his legs as steady as possible. With travelling forbidden in this area and work ethic a strong factor in the Elders’ decisions to grant favours, Phil is loath to give up now he’s already conquered the first step. He leans against the door to stop himself from falling, folding his arms in an attempt to look casual.

PJ watches all the while, his own body trembling, though mainly from his journey up the stairs. When he understands exactly what Phil is trying to say, he nods slowly. “Yeah,” he responds. He rubs his eyes with the back of his arm before squeezing them shut, relieving some of the exhaustion from his body. “Yeah, you are.”

Silence falls between them, and Phil drops his gaze to the floor, too tired and too guilty to look PJ in the face. His eyes catch sight of his left forearm on their way down, the mark that had destined him for death now nothing more than a faded scar. As the months had passed by, the redness had subsided and left what now resembles a pink, barely noticeable burn across the length of his limb. Though the sight would once have sent dread spiralling throughout Phil’s being, it’s now nothing more than a battle wound, proof that he’s healing and that he’s stronger now.

And yet, although his abilities had quickly returned to him, he still hesitates with every attempt to use them, the habit still ingrained within his brain. To call himself an angel no longer feels accurate; he flinches on impulse every time he travels, and even though the waves of nausea and dizziness don’t come anymore, the memories are too strong for him to simply forget them.

But PJ has been his support system, a kind shoulder and an emotional anchor through it all. Even now as PJ stands red-faced and nervous, he’s by Phil’s side, ready and waiting for whatever comes next.

Phil wets his lips as it dawns on him what he’s about to lose. “I’m really sorry, Peej,” he whispers, searching PJ’s face for some sort of resistance to his plans.

But PJ remains stern in his decision to stand by Phil, straightening his back with raised eyebrows. “What for?” he asks.

Phil’s heart clenches. There are hundreds of things that he feels the need to apologise for; his decision today is only one of many.

“For everything,” Phil laughs, even though there’s little to laugh about. “You’ve always looked out for me, and I haven’t been able to give back a single thing. I know it’s too late to fix everything, but—“

“Stop it, Phil,” PJ interrupts, and Phil freezes in place, his arms still folded and his fingers tightening around his forearms. “God, you’re a sucker for torturing yourself, aren’t you? Come on, cheer up.”

Phil’s breath hitches in his throat as he swallows down a protest, but he exhales weakly when PJ’s pleads with him to comply. He shakes his head, helpless, and says, “I just wanted you to know. You know, before…”

He trails off, and PJ nods in understanding. The air is thick and heavy around them, and Phil can’t decide if it’s the exhaustion or if it’s the tension that passes between the two of them.

PJ offers Phil a sad smile and takes several steps forward to face the door in front of them. “It’s fine. Really, it is. Now, get in there and raise some Hell.”

“All right,” Phil breathes in response, his skin crawling with the anticipation. He gestures towards the door with a flick of his head, saying, “I suppose we should go, then—"

“One last thing.”

The speed at which PJ interjects makes Phil flinch a little, his eyes widening before blinking rapidly. “What is it?” he asks gently, turning to look at PJ inquisitively.

PJ twists his whole body to stare at Phil face to face, scanning his body up and down like a mother with her child. Then, he reaches forward and pulls Phil into an embrace.

“Good luck in there, buddy,” he whispers, his voice trembling on the final word. “I mean it. I really want this for you, Phil.”

Phil’s eyes begin to mist over as he squeezes PJ tighter, his fingers digging deep into PJ’s back. Any attempt to speak is cut off by his throat closing up, so he buries his face into PJ’s shoulder. He doesn’t cry, and neither does PJ, but they hold each other as if both are too afraid to let go.

The two of them breathe in unison, slow and controlled, and finally Phil pulls away to look his best friend in the face for what could be the last time. He blinks slowly, burning PJ’s expression into his memory forever, and says the words that he’s held back for too long. “Thank you, Peej.”

PJ shakes his head, laughing. He reluctantly loosens his grip on Phil’s triceps, his hands slowly turning into fists when his arms drop to his sides. “Don’t mention it,” PJ says, and he reaches forward to grasp the golden door handle. “Ready?”

Phil stares at the door in front of them, separating them both from a life changing decision. He steps forward and takes a deep breath, placing his hand atop of PJ’s, and nods.

“As I’ll ever be.”

* * *

The sensation of sharp nails clawing at Phil’s skin is enough for him to wrench his hands away with a yelp, the pain so sudden and intense that it shocks the words out of his mouth before he can even form them. He stands frozen, his hands clutched tightly to his chest, and he gapes silently at the sight of Dan staring wide-eyed at him several paces away.

In hindsight, perhaps surprising Dan after months of absence had not been the best plan Phil could have conjured.

As Phil recovers from the sudden attack—he _had_ clasped his hands around Dan’s eyes, so the response is hardly unfitting despite the innocence behind Phil’s actions—Dan continues to stare. His body is rigid,his elbows bent in what could almost pass for a fighting stance, and suddenly Phil is hit with the memory of appearing in Dan’s room so many months ago.

Stunned though he is, even the sight of Dan preparing to punch him strikes a strange hint of affection within Phil’s chest, so he swallows and takes a step forward. “Dan?” he tries quietly, inching forwards through the piles of clothes and scattered papers strewn across the floor. “Dan, it’s me.”

Dan blinks at him slowly. Then, he straightens his back, his face softening and his eyes retreating to their normal size. He raises an arm gradually to chest height, one finger outstretched in Phil’s direction, and Phil watches with an expression of both confusion and anticipation.

“ _What_ ,” Dan begins, his voice trembling almost as much as his body, “in the _Hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

A short moment passes before Phil breaks into a smile, erupting into laughter at the seriousness of Dan’s expression. Dan slowly begins to mirror him, his lips twitching at the corners despite his best efforts to contain the oncoming grin, and Phil runs forward to throw his arms around Dan in a warm embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Phil laughs, burying his face in the crook of Dan’s neck. He smiles against Dan’s smooth skin and inhales, letting himself be enveloped by Dan’s aura and scent. Phil feels Dan’s breath against the top of his head as they both laugh, overjoyed and overwhelmed. “I should know by now that surprising you never goes well.”

“Well, I appreciate the thought.”

Dan steps back to look at Phil, his eyes roaming over Phil’s face, as if to ensure that person in front of him is indeed real. Phil tries not to wince when Dan grasps his shoulders a little too tightly, his nails digging into Phil’s flesh like anchors. He rubs Dan’s back soothingly until Dan’s grip loosens, and Phil grins even wider, even though Phil’s skin still burns almost as much as Dan’s fixed stare does.

Speechlessness overwhelms the two of them once more as they drink in the image of the other, sacrificing words for gentle touches. Phil tucks a stray curl behind Dan’s ear affectionately, whilst Dan reaches forward to cup Phil’s face and frame it with his hands. He frowns at the sight of his golden skin against Phil’s own pale complexion, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the memory of Phil’s deteriorating health, but Phil shakes his head wordlessly at the first sign of concern. Though Dan’s expression doesn’t relax, he leaves his worries unspoken and instead offers Phil a simple question.

"When do you have to go back?" he asks quietly, never breaking the eye contact. Phil’s heartbeat quickens when he considers his answer, reminding himself of the reality of his situation, so he takes a deep breath to calm himself before answering.

"Never," he says bluntly. Dan offers no response and remains frozen in place, so Phil takes advantage of the silence to affirm the truth. "I won't have to go back there ever again."

Dan’s expression travels through the spectrum of emotions at lightning speed as he processes the words. He eventually settles on looking dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open slightly as Phil looks on with a small smile. Dan slides his hands down from Phil’s cheeks to his triceps, his fingers trailing gently down the skin of Phil’s arm.  

"What?" Dan whispers, shaking his head rapidly. "But won't you—if you don't, then—"

"I quit,” Phil says, interjecting, and he breathes a sigh of relief at the joy it brings him.

Dan’s mouth continues to gape, his eyebrows furrowed, and he begins to babble. "You quit?" he says. "You can _do_ that?"

"Apparently," Phil laughs, reaching out to let his hands rest on Dan’s waist. Dan’s gaze flickers down to where Phil’s hands lay before he meets Phil’s eye once more, and Phil shrugs loosely, even though the euphoria his confession brings almost overwhelms him. "Quite frankly, I couldn't give a damn. They're not stopping me. I'd like to see them try."

The vagueness of Phil’s answers too concerning for Dan to relax, his face still skewed with worry as he bites his lip, so Phil guides him over to the bed and helps him sit down. The two of them sit side by side, hand in hand, and Phil swallows as he prepares to explain the full truth. All the while frown lines sully Dan’s forehead, and Phil strokes Dan’s knuckles tenderly to provide some comfort.

“I spoke to the Elders,” Phil admits with a sigh. Dan’s eyes widen at the mention of them, but he remains silent, allowing Phil to continue. “We had a long talk about—you know. _This_.” He motions between the two of them with his free hand, and Dan purses his lips as he begins to contemplate something.

“I think I heard,” Dan confesses. “I had a really weird dream this morning and I could have sworn that I heard you. There were other people talking too—a group, kind of—but I couldn’t make out what was going on. Maybe it was you.”

Phil nods gently. “It was difficult to win them over, but in the end they gave in,” he adds, shrugging a little as he speaks. “I begged them for mortality, and here I am. Here, and completely human.”

“Wait, what?” Dan interrupts, letting go of Phil’s hands in shock. “Human? So you mean—?”

“Yeah,” Phil cuts him off, clasping his hands around his knees. “No more travelling, no more powers, nothing. It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be, to be honest.”

It’s not entirely true, but the sight of Dan reminds him of the reason why he’s made such a choice in the first place.

“Are you sure?” Dan queries uneasily.

“Yes,” Phil replies, more certain this time.

Phil lifts his legs onto the bed and folds them together, turning so he faces Dan. He pats Dan’s knee to indicate that he should follow, and Dan mirrors him so that they’re both cross-legged on Dan’s bed, looking each other in the face, basking in the silence now that everything is finally out in the open.

But there’s still one thing left to be acknowledged that Phil can’t bear to wait any longer to broach, and his need to know is amplified when he spots Dan’s line of sight fall and focus on Phil’s lips. Phil’s gaze fixes on Dan’s lips, too, and the two of them inch closer at a gradual pace, until there’s little space left between them. Phil moves his hands so that one rests on Dan’s hip, the other reaching up to cup Dan’s jaw, and he stares deep into Dan’s eyes as both dare the other to make the first move.

Phil wets his lips and chooses to be brave. “Is this still okay?” he whispers.

Dan nods quickly, his mouth forming a quiet ‘yes,’ so Phil closes the distance between them.

When the two pull apart, barely a second passes before they’re attached at the lips again; Phil is desperate to make up for lost time, and Dan seems just as eager from the way he reaches forward to pull at Phil’s shirt, bringing him even closer, until they fall backwards onto the mattress. From there their hands roam across each other, threading through each other’s hair and brushing each other’s faces, both entirely lost in the sensation of the other as they kiss for what feels like forever.

The spell is broken when Dan reaches for Phil’s waistband, his fingers slipping just slightly past the top of Phil’s jeans. Phil pulls away suddenly with wide eyes, and he’s met with an equally shocked stare from Dan, who is red faced from both exertion and embarrassment.

Phil clears his throat and looks away. “I suppose now is a bad time to tell you I’m asexual?”

Blinking silently, Dan stares down at his hands. He’s grasping Phil’s hips firmly, and their legs are tangled together, so that there’s barely any room between them. He looks back up at Phil, who remains motionless save for biting his lip, and he begins to laugh.

“Considering our situation, I’d say it’s the perfect time,” Dan replies as he untangles himself from Phil.  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staying close. “Sorry, I should have asked.”

Phil smiles, relaxing, and shakes his head. He takes Dan’s hand in his own and threads their fingers together before squeezing it tightly. “No, it doesn’t mean that I’ll never want to,” he explains as Dan settles down beside him to lay on his side. “Just—not right now.”

Dan nods understandingly as he squeezes back. “Of course,” he whispers, and he leans forward to press a chaste kiss against the corner of Phil’s mouth. He’s caught off guard, however, when Phil turns his head to the side and catches Dan’s lips instead. Dan makes a muffled noise of surprise against Phil’s mouth, but he doesn’t pull away, and after a brief moment Phil pulls back gently with satisfaction.

They lie quietly for what feels like forever. Dan’s bed is comfortable and welcoming, and the heat from each other’s bodies acts as a natural sleeping pill. Eventually Dan shifts, readjusting their positions so that Phil lies almost completely on top of him.

He speaks up as he moves. “I probably should have guessed. Angels, non-sexual. Me, not thinking.”

The bluntness of it makes Phil laugh. His head is resting on Dan’s chest, listening to Dan’s gentle heartbeat, so he has to crane his neck upward to meet Dan’s eyes. “It’s not because I’m an angel, I promise,” Phil says, snuggling closer. “It’s just who I am. And like I said, just because I’m not—it doesn’t mean I won’t ever. I don’t have to be attracted to you in that way to do, um, that.”

Phil’s face glows red as he trails off, and Dan fails to stifle a giggle. He rests a hand softly on Phil’s head and massages his scalp. Dan drags his nails gently through the strands of hair and against the skin, earning a happy sigh from Phil as a result.

“I get it,” Dan says tenderly, his eyes slowly dropping shut as drowsiness overcomes him. “We can work all the details out later. Right now, all I need is this.”

"Good, because I'm not moving." Phil turns his head to bury his face into Dan's shirt and exhales, feeling the tension rush out of his body. He closes his eyes and shuts out the world around him, focusing only on the sensation of Dan lying beneath him and the warmth of their palms pressed against each other. He’s never felt more human than in this moment, connecting with another person both physically and emotionally in ways that he’s never experienced before.

He’s reluctant to call it a relationship, because it’s too early to label exactly what they are, too fast to make such a claim without talking about it first. But, for the moment, Phil is happy to lie quietly in Dan’s gentle aura, to spend endless hours reconnecting with the person that he’s fought so hard to get back to.

After a long while of silence, Phil makes a confession. "You were different than I expected,” he says. Dan’s head shifts above him, and Phil keeps his eyes closed and waits patiently for the oncoming reaction.

"Disappointed?" Dan asks casually, though his sudden stillness gives him away.

Phil shakes his head vehemently, his eyebrows creasing together at the thought. "No. Happy, actually,” he continues, allowing the sound of Dan’s gentle breathing to keep him steady. "It made me realise that—that all those years I was looking at you and thinking you were someone you're not. I shouldn't have done that."

The sound of Dan opening his mouth to speak almost cuts him off, but Phil quickly beats him to the punch. "I shouldn't have been looking at you through rose-tinted glasses,” he says, and Dan relaxes once more against him. “I'd spent eternity telling myself that you were perfect and that no one else compared to you. That's just ridiculous. You're short tempered, and lazy, and messy, and I honestly couldn't be happier about it."

With his speech finished, Phil reopens his eyes and cranes his neck upwards. Dan stares down at him, misty-eyed and speechless, so Phil leans up to press another kiss against the corner of Dan’s lips. The movement jolts Dan into action, blinking rapidly as if awaking from a dream, and slowly he bites his lip whilst looking pointedly away from Phil’s gaze.

"You're not so hot yourself,” Dan snorts, though a trace of a smile pulls at the corner of his lips, which he attempts to hide with his free hand. A blush begins to colour his face bright pink, earning a large grin from Phil, who pulls at Dan’s hand until he sees the bright smile beneath it. The two of them laugh, pawing at each other playfully and rolling apart, until they’re out of breath and eye-to-eye once again.

Gradually the atmosphere fades, as does the expression on Dan’s face, which slowly drops until he’s frowning and sitting with folded arms. A weight drops in Phil’s stomach at the sight. He reaches forward to take Dan’s hand into his own, but Dan catches Phil’s wrist before he can make contact and holds it firmly in place.

Dan takes a deep breath and stares down at the mattress. “There’s going to be problems, you know.”

His grip around Phil’s wrist loosens, allowing Phil to rest his arm neatly onto his lap.

“I know,” Phil admits, his voice quiet and low. After all, he has no mortal identity of his own, no real place to live and no way of supporting himself other than relying on Dan. There’s no way for Phil to protect himself anymore, let alone the person he cares for most.

Still, he’s chosen mortality, and, most importantly, he’s chosen Dan. Phil would rather spend his short life in love than live an eternity knowing that, one day, Dan would be nothing more than a distant memory.

“Can we do it?” Dan asks, rubbing his wrists nervously. Phil places both hands onto Dan’s shoulders and gazes at him intensely, close enough to see his own reflection in the brown of Dan’s eyes, and Dan’s movements grind to a halt.

“We can try,” Phil assures him softly. “Or at least, we can try to try. We have to start somewhere, right?”

After a moment Dan nods, relaxing his hands and letting them droop by his sides. “Right,” he breathes, though Phil can still sense Dan’s anxiety. “What about PJ?”

“Peej?” Phil echoes. A feeling of warmth runs like hot water through Phil’s body as he remembers green eyes and brown curls, reminding him of the biggest sacrifice he’s had to make for this moment of happiness. Though the memory strikes a plummeting feeling within Phil’s stomach, he shakes his head and answers honestly.

“He’ll be fine,” he whispers, even if the fact is still uncertain. “We’ll see him again.”

Because in the end, there are still so many things that remain uncertain. Phil is unwilling to choose a concrete path amongst the many that lay in front of him, each one stretching too far into the distance for Phil to see them ending across the horizon. But the fact that there are so many roads to choose from is what gives him the courage to try, to swallow his concerns and walk blindly forwards, even without the knowledge of where each path will end.

But there are some things, however, that Phil does know for certain. The first is that no matter which path he chooses, not a single one will come without problems. There are too many factors in his life denying him a simple path, too many variables that stand in the way of a straight road ahead. But Phil knows for a fact that on every road he takes is a hand to guide him, two soft eyes to lead the way, and a gentle smile that grounds him even in his darkest moments. There’s no sweeter comfort than knowing that Dan is his guardian in this new chapter of his life.

Besides him, Dan shifts and breathes gently, having abandoned consciousness in favour of sleeping. Phil smiles and strokes a loose hair away from Dan’s forehead, peering lovingly at his relaxed expression, and he decides to follow suit.

In the end, Phil has faith in where his life is going. In the end, Phil has faith in his own, small centre of the universe.


End file.
